


What You Came For

by DeathBelle



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Corpses, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Overdose, police!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:38:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 108,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9663893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathBelle/pseuds/DeathBelle
Summary: Iwaizumi Hajime, newly promoted sergeant of the Tokyo Police, is a man of discretion and good judgment. When he meets Oikawa Tooru at a club, it suddenly becomes more difficult to exercise that good judgment. Oikawa is free and flirtatious and all all of the things that Iwaizumi cannot allow himself to be. Despite his resolution to stay away, he gets dragged into Oikawa's orbit and doesn't have the will to find his way back out.Meanwhile, a drug scandal is brewing in Tokyo. A new mystery drug is spreading among the nightlife, and several deaths have been linked to its use. Iwaizumi finds himself on the front lines of the investigation, which is made more difficult when his work life becomes inextricably intertwined with his new social life.Iwaizumi finds himself torn between his career and Oikawa Tooru, straddling the line of professionalism and duty. Iwaizumi has the responsibility to do the right thing, but it it's becoming more and more unclear what the right thing actually is. He has to choose a side, and his decision could save or end more lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These are the lies I told myself when I started this story:
> 
> *This is going to be a one-shot.  
> *I'm not writing another Police AU.  
> *This is going to be Iwaizumi and Oikawa hooking up in a club.  
> *That's it.  
> *I'm not going to get ahead of myself.  
> *THIS IS GOING TO BE A ONE-SHOT.
> 
> And now here we are, twenty-nine days later, with possibly the longest thing I've ever written.
> 
> I'll be updating this once a week, just like with Seijoh Inc., although probably on a different day. Maybe Sunday or Tuesday.

The trio clinked their glasses together and Hanamaki said, loudly enough to be heard over the thrumming music of the club, “To our new sergeant! May he be less strict and give us the freedom to do whatever the hell we want!”

“Hear, hear!” agreed Matsukawa, throwing back his shot.

Iwaizumi frowned at the pair of them. “It’s nice to know you’re only happy for yourselves. Thanks, guys.”

The two of them laughed, and Iwaizumi couldn’t help but grin.

He’d been offered the promotion a month before, but hadn’t told anyone until that morning when he’d gotten his new uniforms, complete with golden sergeant stripes on the sleeves. He had been anxious about telling the men he’d worked with for the past six years. He was afraid they’d treat him differently now that he had some measure of authority over them.

It was a relief to discover just how wrong he’d been.

“You know we’re happy for you!” said Hanamaki. He bumped his shoulder against Iwaizumi’s. “You deserve it, man. But we’re also happy Mizoguchi won’t be breathing down our necks anymore.”

“He just moved up to captain. He’s still in charge of us.”

“It’s different,” said Matsukawa. He swiveled on his stool and lounged back against the bar, elbows propped on the counter. “Less direct supervision.”

Iwaizumi took a drink of his beer and mimicked Matsukawa, turning to face the rest of the club. 

He’d never been much of a club-goer, even in his younger years. In college he’d spent more time studying than partying, and he’d been hired by the police department directly after graduation. It was his personal opinion that excess drinking and engaging in wild social antics wasn’t appropriate behavior for a public servant, although there were several officers at the PD who blatantly disagreed. 

Of course, they hadn’t been promoted to sergeant, either.

“Let us buy you a real drink!” insisted Hanamaki. The music had switched to something with more bass and he had to nearly yell to be heard over the heavy pounding that thrummed through the floor. “We’re celebrating, Iwaizumi! Enjoy yourself for once.”

“I am enjoying myself.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa exchanged a look.

“You’d enjoy yourself more if you drank a couple of these,” said Matsukawa. He waved the bartender over and indicated that he wanted four more shots. “Let your guard down for once. We’re not going to get plastered. We’ll babysit you if we need to.”

“I’m not going to get drunk,” said Iwaizumi. “That’s _less_ fun. I’m an angry drunk.”

Matsukawa raised a brow at him. “You’re angry all the time. It’s not much of a difference.”

Iwaizumi’s scowl gave way to a fleeting grin. 

Hanamaki laughed and nudged him with an elbow. “Hey, check out those girls over there. Guess their BAC.”

Iwaizumi followed his pointing finger to a pair of girls on the edge of the dance floor. They were clearly dressed for a good time in short dresses and high heels, the latter of which was a disadvantage for them in their current state. They were dancing together, swaying along with the heavy beat, bodies rubbing closely together. Clearly they thought they were exuding sexiness, but in reality they were stumbling with every step and clutching onto one another just to stay upright. 

It was too loud to hear Hanamaki’s chuckle, but Iwaizumi felt it against his side. 

“At least point-one-seven,” said Iwaizumi, watching as one of the girls nearly snapped her ankle as she staggered. 

“I’d guess two-oh,” said Matsukawa. “Think they’re going to be alright?”

His answer came in the form of one of the girls tripping over her own feet and falling flat on her ass. She flailed around, trying to get back up, but her coordination wouldn’t allow it.

Only seconds later one of the club’s bouncers swooped in to help her to her feet. He looped an arm around her waist to help keep her upright and led her away from the dance floor, her friend following behind in the clutches of manic laughter.

When Hanamaki and Matsukawa had insisted they were going out, Iwaizumi had refused all other clubs except this one. He’d been an officer long enough to be intimately aware of the sketchy activities that happened in such establishments. This one, however, was a rarity. Shiratorizawa had a reputation for being clean and safe, and the police were dispatched to the location infrequently. The most common problem was an occasional fight, and by the time the police arrived the bouncers had usually already sorted things out.

It was also a little classier than the typical club, which prevented some of the regular faces that Iwaizumi dealt with from wandering in.

Iwaizumi watched the bouncer safely direct the girl to a table and ease her into a chair. He crouched beside her to talk, probably recommending that she stop drinking. The bouncer was tall and lanky and Iwaizumi vaguely recognized him as one of the witnesses to a fight in the club’s parking lot a couple of months before. He couldn’t place his name, but he remembered that the man was cooperative and respectful.

Matsukawa waved a shot in front of Iwaizumi’s face and he shook his head, opting for another drink of beer instead. Complaints were made, but Iwaizumi ignored them.

He looked out at the dance floor again, trying to pick out another candidate whose level of intoxication he could take a guess at.

There were plenty of inebriated individuals swinging around, but Iwaizumi’s attention came to a full stop on the corner of the floor nearest the bar, where a man danced alone. 

The thrum of the bass pounded in time with Iwaizumi’s pulse as he watched the man’s hips dip and sway in perfect rhythm. His jeans were extremely fitted and Iwaizumi found himself staring at the way the motion affected the man’s ass. Then he turned, still rocking with the music, face half shadowed by the low light. A few strands of hair were plastered to his forehead by sweat, and he reached up to push them away. His eyes were half-closed, the corner of his mouth curled in a smirk, his body moving like liquid. 

Hanamaki and Matsukawa were having a loud conversation, and though Iwaizumi was sitting between them, he didn’t hear what was being said. His grip on his beer had gone slack, attention consumed.

A woman with dark hair and enticing curves seemed to be equally as affixed as Iwaizumi. She danced her way over to the man with smooth rolls of her hips and reached out to him, as if to link her arms around his neck.

The man twisted away and waved her off with a smile, a firm but friendly dismissal. The woman slinked away without argument and the man kept dancing, kept moving, kept demanding Iwaizumi’s attention.

And then he raised his head and looked toward the bar, eyes meeting Iwaizumi’s.

There was a flash of heat in Iwaizumi’s chest, paired with a sudden, swift exhale. He quickly looked away, pretending to be interested in whatever Hanamaki was shouting about. He only caught the words “intravenous” and “Bacardi” before he gave in and cut his gaze back toward the dance floor.

The man was still staring at him. He’d stopped dancing, but when he saw Iwaizumi looking back he fell into rhythm again, twisting with the beat, rolling his hips in a way that Iwaizumi couldn’t help but think was suggestive.

Matsukawa’s elbow dug into his ribs and drew Iwaizumi back into their conversation.

“Hey, is that guy looking at you?”

“What guy?” said Iwaizumi.

It would have been more believable if he’d been able to look away.

“The one dancing,” said Matsukawa helpfully. “The one giving you ‘fuck me’ eyes. Do you know him?”

_Unfortunately not._

“No,” he said. “I’ve never seen him in my life.”

The man flipped his hair away from his face and smirked, still holding Iwaizumi’s enraptured gaze. He raised a hand, palm-up, and crooked a finger in invitation.

“Holy shit, he _is_ looking at you,” Hanamaki said. 

“No, he’s not,” said Iwaizumi. He took a drink of beer to combat his suddenly dry mouth.

“Yes, he is!” Matsukawa flung another elbow and almost made Iwaizumi spill his beer. “He wants you to dance with him!”

“Go dance with him!”

“Go!”

“Go!”

“Go!”

“Shut up!” 

“C’mon, sarge!” said Hanamaki. “We’re here to have a good time, so go have a good time.”

“I’m not dancing with him.” Iwaizumi swiveled on his stool, turning his back on the dance floor. He stared at the row of shots Matsukawa had ordered and thought about taking one. 

“Why not?” The two of them spun to meet him, leaning in close. Hanamaki tapped his glass against the counter to punctuate his sentences. “It’s just a dance. You don’t have to marry him.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Iwaizumi. He was suddenly very interested in the mostly empty glass clutched between his palms. “Someone might see.”

He felt the two of them exchange a loaded look. They knew exactly what he meant, despite the vagueness of the statement.

“Listen,” said Matsukawa, propping his elbows on the bar and shifting closer to Iwaizumi. “We’re at a club. Everyone is so drunk off their ass that they don’t know which way is up. On the off chance that someone important is here – which they’re not – they’re just going to think you’re too drunk to know any better, alright? It’s not going to be an issue.”

“Right,” chimed Hanamaki. “And if they have something to say about it then they’ll be talking through my fist.” 

Iwaizumi smiled despite himself. 

Law enforcement was not a choice career for openly gay individuals. In fact, expressing that he was interested in men would be the quickest way for him to be blamed for an irrelevant fuck up and be fired. It was something he didn’t tell anyone; _ever_. 

It was by accident that Hanamaki and Matsukawa had found out, and a miracle that they’d accepted the news with surprising grace and matching promises to maintain his secrecy. 

They’d already been his friends, but after that, Iwaizumi had found that he absolutely loved those two idiots.

“I can’t,” he said. He tilted back his glass and drained the rest of his beer. 

“Why not?” demanded Hanamaki. “You have to! He’s cute, right?” He checked over his shoulder. “I mean, I’ve never had a thing for guys, but I guess objectively he’s probably attractive?”

Iwaizumi snorted a laugh. “Yeah, he’s cute.” It was such an extreme understatement that it almost felt sacrilegious. 

“Then go for it!” said Matsukawa. “It’ll be fine. Nobody here gives a shit. Seriously, have fun for once, Iwaizumi. You worked your ass off for this promotion. You deserve to have a good time.”

Iwaizumi darted a glance over his shoulder. The man was still watching. He stuck his lip out in a pout, which was quickly overtaken by another smirk. He beckoned to Iwaizumi again, then moved that hand to his face, trailing fingers along his jaw, sliding his palm down his neck and over his chest. 

Iwaizumi felt something inside him _burn_.

He turned away again, his heart spasming in his chest. Without thinking he reached for one of Matsukawa’s shots and threw it back with a wince.

“He’s going to do it!” said Hanamaki, excitement dancing in his eyes. He slapped a hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, a little too hard. “Go get him, sarge!”

“Stop calling me that,” Iwaizumi grumbled, the protest washed away by the rumble of the bass. 

Matsukawa thumped his other shoulder as he slid off of the bar stool. Before he could make some equally annoying comment, Iwaizumi said, “Neither of you are allowed to look at me. That’s an order.”

“No promises, sarge!” they called as he made his way toward the dance floor.

There was a consistent press of people as he crossed the room. They’d arrived at a busy time. Iwaizumi wove through the patrons, dodged the staggering path of a drunk guy who barely looked old enough to buy alcohol, and hesitated at the edge of the dance floor.

He’d kept his eyes downcast, but now he finally made himself look up. 

The man was waiting. This close, his eyes sparkled like dark gemstones. He extended an arm, fingers outstretched in invitation.

After a brief hesitation, and a glance back to the bar that confirmed that his friends were indeed staring, Iwaizumi took it.

The man pulled him close and looped his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, stepping directly into his personal space. The man was taller, slightly, and he ducked his head to speak into Iwaizumi’s ear.

“I don’t like when people keep me waiting.”

His voice was low and smoky. Iwaizumi rested his hands on the man’s hips, which swayed beneath his touch.

“Sorry,” said Iwaizumi. “I was trying to figure out if there was enough room for me. It seems like your ego takes up a lot of space.”

The man pulled back a little, blinking at Iwaizumi in surprise. Then a slow smirk slid onto his face. He pressed close and rolled his hips, making Iwaizumi gasp. “There’s a reason for my ego,” he murmured, lips brushing Iwaizumi’s ear. 

The man rolled his hips again, and that was the end of the conversation.

Iwaizumi had never been a big fan of dancing, but he understood the concept. He was apt enough to move with the beat, to grind against his partner when their positions allowed, to stand firm when the man draped himself over Iwaizumi and laughed into his neck.

“What’s your name?” the man asked, a little out of breath after the third consecutive song. 

“Iwaizumi Hajime.” He answered without thinking, without worrying. “What’s yours?”

The man turned and pressed his back against Iwaizumi’s chest, leaning into him. Iwaizumi let his fingers dance along the curve of the man’s hips, and for a moment he thought he wouldn’t receive a name in return. 

Then the man turned his head to the side and said “Oikawa Tooru” just before he pushed his ass back against Iwaizumi’s hips.

Iwaizumi breathed in sharply, then leaned into the motion, increasing the friction. He mentally catalogued the scent of Oikawa Tooru. He smelled like nighttime, like clean sweat, like sex. It was enough to make Iwaizumi tipsy, and the shot he’d taken had little to do with it. 

The music buzzed through the soles of his feet and his head swam and his fingers burned where they slipped under the hem of Oikawa’s shirt and skirted along the bare skin of his hipbones. Being that close felt _electric_. 

Oikawa turned in his grip and linked his hands behind Iwaizumi’s neck. Iwaizumi tightened his hold and pulled him closer, until their hips were pressed together. Iwaizumi was hard. It was impossible not to be, with the heat and motion and friction between them. 

Their hot breaths mingled, and the curve of a smirk pulled at Oikawa’s mouth. “Feels like you’re having a good time, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi grinded against him and felt Oikawa’s hardness against his thigh. “And you’re not?”

“You could make it better,” said Oikawa, the words so close to Iwaizumi’s lips that he felt them.

Iwaizumi tilted his head back a little. It was automatic, and treacherous.

If he shifted forward at all they would be kissing. 

Oikawa’s lips were curved slightly, full and perfect and inviting. Iwaizumi wanted to kiss him, much more than he’d wanted anything in a long while.

He swallowed and stepped back, extracting himself from Oikawa’s grasp.

“I have to go,” he said, turning away. He thought about offering an excuse, but knew it would be false and feeble, so he didn’t bother. 

Oikawa caught him by the wrist. “Why?”

Iwaizumi looked down at Oikawa’s fingers, pale against his copper skin. “I just have to go.”

He pulled away again, and Oikawa allowed him to slide through his grip.

Iwaizumi slipped through the crowd, breath heavy and face hot and pants uncomfortable. He slid back onto the stool between Hanamaki and Matsukawa, which had remained vacant in his absence. He reached for the fresh drink on the counter, which was probably Hanamaki’s, and took a gulp before they could stop him. 

They were both staring at him; he could feel it. 

He kept his head down and tried to ignore them. He threw back the rest of Hanamaki’s drink and squeezed his eyes shut against the burn that blazed down his throat. He slapped the glass back down on the counter and reached for a shot.

Matsukawa grabbed his wrist. “You sure you want to do that?” he said, leaning in. “I thought you weren’t going to get drunk.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Did he do something to you?” asked Hanamaki, huddling into their conversation. “It looked like you were having a good time.”

“He didn’t do anything. I’m fine.” He shook off Matsukawa’s hand and picked up the shot. He raised it to his mouth but paused with the rim of the small glass pressed against his lower lip.

This was reckless. Dancing like that with a complete stranger in the middle of a public venue had been stupid. Drinking himself into a stupor was even worse. If he’d been even slightly intoxicated, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself. He wouldn’t have been able to walk away.

As exhilarating as that would have been, it was _reckless_.

Iwaizumi put the shot down and nudged it back into line with the others. He propped his elbows on the bar and rested his forehead in his hands, trying to regain control of himself. 

He wasn’t a teenager anymore; he hadn’t been in a long time. He couldn’t let himself give into his impulses. His career depended on it.

An arm dropped across his shoulders. Iwaizumi sighed and raised his head to tell Matsukawa that he was fine.

It wasn’t Matsukawa who was touching him.

Oikawa had slithered between the two bar stools and draped himself across Iwaizumi. With his free hand he waved down the bartender. “Yoo-hoo! Bartender-chan!”

The bartender gave him an unimpressed look and slowly started in their direction.

Iwaizumi tried to shrug away from Oikawa, but he clenched a fist into Iwaizumi’s shirt and held on. “Get off me.”

“You were pretty eager to touch me five minutes ago,” said Oikawa, sliding him a smug look.

“I changed my mind.”

The bartender planted his palms on the bar and gave Oikawa a flat look. “What?”

“I want a drink, Bartender-chan.”

“Stop calling me that. What do you want?”

“I want you to get Shirabu-chan so he can make me a drink.”

The bartender’s flat stare traveled from Oikawa’s face, along his arm, and then to Iwaizumi, who was still trapped in Oikawa’s clutches. “I’m going to tell the boss you’re harassing the customers.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Semi-chan. Just go get Shirabu.”

“He’s on a break. I can make your stupid drink.”

“I don’t want you to make it. Shirabu is better.”

The bartender’s jaw tightened. Iwaizumi suspected he was gritting his teeth to keep from biting Oikawa’s head off. 

“Then you can wait until he gets back,” said Semi, his voice tight. “Can I get you guys anything?”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa both looked at Iwaizumi. 

“No thanks,” he said. He tried to shrug away from Oikawa again, to no avail. “We’re leaving.”

The man nodded and headed toward the other end of the bar. 

“You’re leaving so soon?” said Oikawa. He released his death grip on Iwaizumi’s shirt. His hand traveled down the expanse of Iwaizumi’s back and hovered over his hip, his fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “Are you sure?”

Oikawa was too close, and Iwaizumi could smell him again. His fingers twitched. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull Oikawa closer or shove him back, but either way he had to resist. 

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.” He slid off of the stool and away from Oikawa’s arm. Matsukawa threw back the two remaining shots simultaneously before he and Hanamaki also stood. He glanced at the two of them, pointedly avoiding Oikawa’s eyes. “Let’s go.”

They started toward the door and Oikawa followed. Iwaizumi kept a quick pace and tried to ignore him, but it was impossible when Oikawa swooped up beside him and said, voice hot against Iwaizumi’s ear, “I’m here a lot. If you change your mind come back and see me, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi looked over in time to catch a fleeting wink before Oikawa slipped back into the crowd. 

Stepping outside was a relief. The night was mild and the slight breeze dried the sheen of sweat on Iwaizumi’s forehead. They lingered on the sidewalk while Matsukawa attempted to light a cigarette, the alcohol making him clumsier than usual. After his third failed attempt Hanamaki took the lighter from him and teased the flame in front of the cigarette until it flared to life. Matsukawa breathed out a smoky “Thanks.”

“You should stop smoking,” said Hanamaki. “It’s bad for you.” He raised an eyebrow at Iwaizumi. “So is suppressing your sexual needs.”

“I don’t have sexual needs.”

Hanamaki rolled his eyes. “The way the two of you were dry humping each other looked pretty fucking needy.”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t know you could dance like that,” said Matsukawa with a lopsided grin around his cigarette. “I’m impressed, sarge.”

“Focus, Mattsun,” said Hanamaki, lightly kicking the side of his friend’s shoe. He looked back to Iwaizumi. “Why did we leave? Clearly that guy was into you.”

“So?”

“So you were into him, too.” Hanamaki pointed back across the street, where the club’s music was barely audible as a background pulse. “Get back in there and get his number.”

Iwaizumi folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t want to. I’m not interested.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m _not_. Let it go, Makki.”

“If you’re doing this because you’re afraid of someone finding out-”

“I said let it go.”

Hanamaki looked to Matsukawa for help. He was watching the exchange with glassy eyes, half of his cigarette burning to ashes. 

“Iwaizumi, come on,” said Hanamaki, giving up on Matsukawa. “When was the last time you had an actual date?”

Iwaizumi’s jaw twitched. “I’m not having this conversation.” He turned away and started walking. 

“Hey, wait up! Mattsun can’t walk in a straight line.”

“I can walk just fine.”

“You almost just literally walked into that streetlamp.”

“Did not.”

“Iwaizumi, wait!”

He turned on his heel to face them. Hanamaki was dragging an unsteady Matsukawa along by his wrist.

“I’m not talking about it,” said Iwaizumi sternly, leaving no room for argument. “You wanted me to have a good time and I did. Thanks for bringing me out, but I’m going home now. Can you get him back okay or do you need me to help you?”

Hanamaki looked as if he wanted to argue, but Iwaizumi’s tone discouraged him. “We’re fine,” he said. “This is nothing after last year’s Christmas party.”

Matsukawa grinned a little at the memory. Or lack thereof. 

“Alright. I’ll see you guys on Monday. Be safe.” He nodded at the pair and resumed walking, his steps heavy. 

Hanamaki watched him go with a sigh. “Why’s he have to be so stubborn?”

Matsukawa shrugged. “It’s Iwaziumi. What do you expect?”

“I don’t know. It’d just be nice if he was happy for once, you know?” 

“I know,” said Matsukawa. The words were surprisingly serious considering his inebriation. He nodded and repeated, “I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

Iwaizumi sat stiffly, arms crossed over his chest, brows drawn into a scowl. Across the desk Kyoutani sat with a similar posture, his gaze diverted toward the floor.

“Your two week suspension is over,” said Iwaizumi, “but if you mess up like that again, you’re not getting another chance. Understood?”

Kyoutani’s mouth twisted in distaste, but he nodded.

Iwaizumi swallowed an exasperated sigh. He wasn’t the one who’d suspended Kyoutani. Mizoguchi had done it while he’d still been sergeant, before Iwaizumi had been promoted. 

It was lucky, because if Iwaizumi had been there instead, he probably would’ve punched Kyoutani in the face.

Kyoutani wasn’t an ideal officer. He was hotheaded and reckless and tended to make impulsive decisions. All that aside, he was also quick to act, focused, and fearless. He just needed a lot of structure and guidance, which Mizoguchi hadn’t been great at providing. Iwaizumi hoped he could do better.

“And if that happens,” continued Iwaizumi, “Zeno will be assigned to another officer.”

Finally Kyoutani looked at him. His expression was still guarded, but there was something heavy about his gaze.

“Maybe Kindaichi,” said Iwaizumi, pretending to consider it. “Think he’d make a good canine officer?”

“Zeno is mine,” said Kyoutani, the words low and gravely. 

“Only while you’re an officer,” said Iwaizumi. “If you get fired he gets a new partner. So I suggest you don’t get fired.”

Kyoutani grumbled something under his breath but then said, more clearly, “Is that it?”

“That’s it.”

Kyoutani stood and started toward the door of the small office, but Iwaizumi spoke again.

“You’re a good officer when you stay calm,” he told Kyoutani’s back. “It’s when you get too flustered that you mess up. Don’t let things get to you so easily. Stay calm and think about things before you react.”

Kyoutani slid a glare over his stiff shoulder. “Fine. Sergeant.”

He left the room with heavy steps and Iwaizumi sank back into the desk chair, exhausted by the conversation. Talking to Kyoutani was like skipping through a minefield.

He made a note in Kyoutani’s file about the conversation, then returned it to the Shift 2 drawer. The sergeants from all shifts had to share the same office, but since they all worked at different times it was never a problem. Their schedules would never overlap. 

Iwaizumi stood and stretched. His shift had only started thirty minutes before and he already felt drained. It was going to be a long twelve hours.

Service calls were low in volume that night. There were a couple of minor traffic accidents, a shoplifting attempt at a gas station, and a sobbing woman whose cat got struck by a car. Since Iwaizumi was now sergeant of his shift, he wasn’t assigned to a specific area of the city. He floated around as needed, primarily providing backup for his officers when they received a request for service.

After the dead cat incident, during which Kyoutani had been surprisingly sympathetic toward the mourning woman, he headed back to his cruiser to resume his random patrols.

Before he climbed inside, a cool female voice filtered through his earpiece. “203, dispatch.”

He reached for his radio to respond, but then Hanamaki spoke up. “203, go ahead.”

Iwaizumi let his hand fall with a murmured curse. His promotion had given him a new call number, so Hanamaki had been bumped up to his old one. It was going to take some getting used to.

“There’s a complaint of a suspicious person near Block 40. Young male, dark clothing.”

“Ten-four,” drawled Hanamaki, his voice clear in Iwaizumi’s ear. “On my way.”

Iwaizumi slid into his cruiser and pulled away from the curb, heading toward the provided destination. Hanamaki would probably arrive first, but he would only be a few minutes behind.

“Dispatch, 203. Ten ninety-seven.”

“Ten-four, 203.”

Iwaizumi started driving a little faster. He had no qualms about Hanamaki’s abilities as an officer. They’d been hired within six months of each other and had been assigned to the same shift ever since. Hanamaki was one of the best officers at the PD in Iwaizumi’s opinion, biased as it may have been.

Still, he would feel better knowing that someone had Hanamaki’s back.

Especially if that someone was him.

He rolled up behind Hanamaki’s car, checked in with dispatch, and hopped onto the pavement. He didn’t see Makki at first, but the murmur of voices clued him in to his location. He rounded the corner and found Hanamaki standing just inside a close alley, pinning a young man to the wall with the beam of his flashlight.

As Iwaizumi approached he heard Hanamaki say, “You and I both know that story is complete bullshit. What are you really doing hanging around here at three a.m.?”

“I told you. I was at the Swan Club,” the guy said, gesturing into the distance. “I just passed through here on my way home.”

“Swan club?” repeated Iwaizumi.

Hanamaki gave him a flat stare. “Seriously?”

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow.

“Shiratorizawa,” explained Hanamaki, returning his stare to the shifty male. “We were literally just there last weekend.”

A splash of memory colored Iwaizumi’s mind; low lights and loud music, lean curves and dark eyes and smirking lips. 

He shook his head. “Why’s it called the Swan Club?”

“No idea. You got anything illegal on you, bro?”

“What?” said the guy, feigning a look of innocence. “Of course not.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if we patted you down, right?”

The young man looked from Hanamaki to Iwaizumi and back again.

Then he started running.

Hanamaki breathed a sigh, but Iwaizumi was already in motion, legs pumping as he chased him. Distantly he heard Hanamaki report to dispatch, relaying the inevitable foot pursuit. By the time they’d responded, Iwaizumi had already taken the man to the ground and twisted his hands behind his back. 

“Ow! What the fuck, man? I’m not even doing anything!”

“Evading arrest,” said Iwaizumi. He wasn’t even out of breath. He unlatched a pair of stainless steel cuffs from the back of his duty belt and clicked them around the struggling man’s wrists. Then he stood, yanking the man up with him. “Makki, come search this guy.”

“Why?” asked Hanamaki. He stepped up to do as he was asked, despite the question. “Now that you’re a sergeant is stuff like this below you?”

“I had to chase him. This is the least you can do.”

“Yes, sergeant.”

Iwaizumi ignored the hint of sarcasm behind the address. 

Hanamaki patted down the man, who stopped struggling after Iwaizumi threatened to taze him. He recovered an ID that revealed the man’s name – Haruto -, a handful of yen, and a small bag of powder that looked suspiciously like-

“Heroin?” said Iwaizumi, staring at the bag that Hanamaki had presented to him. It was smaller than his palm, almost weightless. “Is this _heroin_?”

“Dude, no,” the man protested, shaking his head so hard that Iwaizumi thought his neck might snap. “I wouldn’t do heroin, man. I swear. I mean, yeah, it’s not legal, but it’s not heroin. Look at me. Do I look like I do heroin?”

Lies were a daily occurrence for Iwaizumi, frequent to the point that he expected everything that came out of someone’s mouth at any given time to possess a degree of untruthfulness. 

Despite that, he believed Haruto’s desperate denial.

“What is it then?” he asked, pinching at the small bag. “The color is off for cocaine.”

“It’s like ecstasy or something,” said Haruto. 

“Or something?”

“I don’t know, exactly,” he admitted. “I just bought it, okay?”

“From where?”

Haruto fidgeted uncomfortably with the handcuffs. “I can’t say.”

Iwaizumi drew in a deep breath, held it, and slowly exhaled. “You do realize that you’re just making this worse for yourself.”

“I’m not a snitch, man,” Haruto insisted. “You can arrest me or whatever, but I’m not selling out anybody.”

“He’s a man of honor,” said Hanamaki solemnly. “I respect that.”

“Shut up and get him in your car,” said Iwaizumi. “Write him up for evading and possession. I’ll take this back to the station and send it for testing.”

“Ten-four, sergeant. Come on, Haruto-kun. I’m going to give you a free ride.”

Haruto scowled, but didn’t resist as Hanamaki gripped his arm and walked him toward the pair of police cruisers parked half a block away.

It was a fairly routine occurrence. Dull, even. There had been no fighting or spitting or bloodshed. 

Iwaizumi took the mystery drug back to the station, labeled it for lab testing, and packaged it up to go out the following day. 

He didn’t think much more about it, because it wasn’t a big deal; not yet, anyway.

It didn’t become a big deal until someone ended up dead.

  
  
  
  
Iwaizumi was relieved to walk into his apartment at the end of the dragging twelve hours. It was his third consecutive night shift in a row, and he had to endure one more before he got a few days off. He was exhausted. 

He kicked off his boots, hung his duty belt on its designated peg by the door, and stripped off his uniform on his way to the shower.

The apartment was quiet, as usual. Iwaizumi lived alone, and on the rare occasion that he entertained visitors, it was always just Hanamaki and Matsukawa. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time that anyone else had been in his apartment.

He remembered Hanamaki confronting him on the sidewalk outside the Shiratorizawa club, the night that his promotion had been made public. 

_“When was the last time you had an actual date?”_

It had been a while, that was for sure. The crippling fear of someone discovering his sexual preferences prevented him from pursuing relationships. Dancing with Oikawa Tooru at the club was the closest he’d been to another human being in a long time, and he was doing his best to forget about that.

He was erasing that entire encounter from his memory. He hadn’t thought about Oikawa at all since then, and he certainly hadn’t jerked off to the thought of him in the shower every day for the past week. 

At the thought, his dick twitched with interest. He scowled and cranked the water colder, refusing to give in again. 

Oikawa wasn’t the sort of person he’d want to date, anyway. He was too pretty, for one thing. There was no way that Iwaizumi would be able to hold his interest for any length of time. It would end badly; that much was clear. There was no point even thinking about it.

Except he just couldn’t stop himself.

Thinking about Oikawa at all was ridiculous. He didn’t know anything about him except that he was attractive and he was a good dancer. That was it. He was probably a royal jerk with a horrible personality to balance out all of that sex appeal. 

But Iwaizumi would never know for sure, because he was never going back to Shiratorizawa, even if his life depended on it. 

  
  
  
  
The following week, Iwaizumi was told that he had to go to Shiratorizawa.

“The Swan Club?” asked Iwaizumi, his lip curling in distaste. He was grateful that Hanamaki had informed him of the club’s nickname. He didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of the investigations division.

“Correct.” Detective Kuroo Tetsurou tapped the red circles etched into the map of the city that he’d unrolled on the surface of his desk. “These are all the places we’ve seen the new drug pop up. This is where you and Hanamaki were last week,” he said, pointing out the intersection where they’d made the stop, “and these are all the ones that the other platoons have found. They’re a little scattered, but even the obvious outlier isn’t all that far from the club. It’s at the center of the grid, here.”

Iwaizumi studied the map. As badly as he wanted to forget that Shiratorizawa even existed, he couldn’t help but see why Kuroo had drawn his conclusion. “So you think the Swan Club has something to do with the drug?”

Kuroo shrugged and sat back in his chair. They were in the investigator’s office, located a block down from the central police station. Iwaizumi’s shift had barely started when Kuroo had called him and requested that he stop by Investigations for a brief meeting.

Iwaizumi felt this meeting was going to be anything but brief.

“The lab confirmed all of the samples were the same compound,” said Kuroo. He shuffled through a stack of paperwork and unearthed a paperclipped ream of lab reports. “It’s a weird combination. We haven’t seen it in Tokyo before. Someone’s making it and selling it, and they must’ve started recently. The first incident was only a month and a half ago.”

“But all of this,” said Iwaizumi, gesturing at the map, “is just your intuition. It’s a theory. There isn’t enough probable cause for us to start investigating Shiratorizawa.”

It was true enough, although Iwaizumi would’ve said anything to get out of going near that club again.

“For now,” said Kuroo with a shrug. “More evidence will pop up. It’s inevitable. In the meantime, we need to keep a close watch on that part of the city. Who works zone 5 on your shift?”

“Usually Hanamaki.”

“Good. Get extra patrols running through these streets in particular,” said Kuroo, tracing a route across the map with the tip of his finger. “I’ll tell the other sergeants as well. We need to put a stop to this before someone gets hurt. I’m going to get my vice guys in on it too. Yaku and Kai have a lot of good informants. Maybe they’ll find someone who knows something.”

“You just got a new guy in vice, right?” said Iwaizumi, vaguely recalling a conversation from a couple of months before. “How’s he doing?”

Kuroo sighed and sank back in his chair, looking a little defeated. “Lev.” He said the name as if it was a curse. “He was a transfer from another agency. I understand now why they transferred him. The kid’s hopeless. Yaku’s been trying to train him but I think he’ll end up killing him instead.”

Iwaizumi grinned. He’d had a few difficult trainees in his day. If he could handle Kyoutani, he felt Kuroo should be able to handle anyone. “He’ll get there. We were all young and stupid once.”

“Excuse me?” said Kuroo, raising a brow. “I was young, but I’m offended that you think I was ever stupid at any time in my life. I’ve always been this smart.”

Iwaizumi snorted. “Yeah, okay. I definitely don’t remember any stories about you getting apartment numbers mixed up and kicking in an old lady’s door while your suspect escaped through the window next door.”

Kuroo winced at the memory. “Okay, maybe I’ve messed up once or twice.”

Iwaizumi chuckled, then circled the conversation back to business. “We’ll keep an extra eye on the area tonight. If we find something I’ll get you as much information as I can.”

“Thanks, Iwaizumi,” said Kuroo, tipping him a nod. “And congrats on the promotion, by the way. You deserve it.”

They said their goodbyes and Iwaizumi left investigations just in time to get a call about a man wandering through a nearby park who may or may not be naked.

After that call, during which Iwaizumi saw more of the sixty-year-old man than he would have liked, the night passed by rather uneventfully. He and Hanamaki doubled up on patrols in zone 5, giving extra attention to the streets that Kuroo had indicated. There was no suspicious activity to be found, and Iwaizumi found himself relaxing a little. 

Maybe this new drug thing was a false alarm. It wasn’t a big deal, and it didn’t have anything to do with Shiratorizawa. 

He wasn’t going to have to go there. 

He wasn’t going to have to see Oikawa Tooru again.

Everything was going to be fine.

At half past four in the morning, thirty minutes before their shift ended, the radio crackled to life.

“Dispatch, 203.”

This time Iwaizumi didn’t reach for the radio. He waited, and only a second later Hanamaki responded.

“203.”

“Priority One. A caller says there is an unresponsive woman on the street in front of the Block 45 bus stop. Asian female, likely in her twenties. She doesn’t appear to be breathing. A medic won’t be on scene for about ten minutes.”

Iwaizumi had stopped breathing after she’d said _priority one_. Now he sucked in a breath and reached for the radio. “Dispatch, 202. Ten ninety-seven in the area.”

“Ten-four.”

He wheeled his cruiser into a u-turn and hit the gas, turning on the blue lights as he sped down the street. He didn’t bother with the siren. There was hardly any traffic that time of night. 

He reached the Block 45 bus stop exactly one minute and twenty-two seconds later. There was a woman lying on the sidewalk and someone standing over her with a cell phone pressed to his ear. The man with the phone looked up as Iwaizumi jumped out of his cruiser and rushed over, snapping on black latex gloves as he ran.

“Oh thank god,” the man said, the phone dropping away from his ear. “I was walking home and I saw her and I don’t think she’s breathing. I didn’t know what to do, and I…” His voice trailed off, words floating away on the wind.

Iwaizumi hit his knees on the sidewalk, pressing his fingers to the prone woman’s neck to check for a pulse. 

There was nothing.

“Shit,” he hissed. He shifted closer and tilted the woman’s head back to clear her airway. Then he stacked his hands, pressed them over the woman’s chest, and started compressions. The feeling of ribs cracking beneath his palms was slightly nauseating, as always, but he easily put that aside. He paused only long enough to press down on his radio and say, “204, get over here. We need the AED.”

“Ten-four,” came Matsukawa’s prompt response.

Iwaizumi kept applying compressions, counting the seconds between each one. After two minutes had passed he checked for a pulse again.

Still nothing.

He was vaguely aware that the man was still present, watching him. “Umm. Should I do something?” he finally asked. 

“No,” said Iwaizumi through gritted teeth. “Just stay back.”

The man obliged. He hovered a few yards away, still watching with morbid fascination. 

Hanamaki arrived a minute later, Matsukawa on his heels. Hanamaki took over compressions and Iwaizumi pulled a knife out of his belt to saw through the front of the woman’s shirt so Matsukawa could attach the AED. Once that was done they all stepped back for a moment, waiting. 

The AED did not recommend defibrillation. That wasn’t a good sign.

Despite the bleak outlook, Matsukawa swooped in and picked up where Hanamaki had left off, trying to keep the woman’s heart going while they waited for a medic to arrive. Iwaizumi was breathing too heavily. He blamed the physical exertion of CPR, but at the same time he knew that wasn’t really it. Despite all of his years as a police officer, watching someone die never got easier.

“Is she going to be okay?” the man who’d found the woman sidled up to Iwaizumi. “Her lips are blue. That probably isn’t good.”

Iwaizumi forced himself to look away from the woman, who was still showing no evidence of responsiveness. He opened his mouth to give his well-practiced spiel about how they were doing the best that they could, and that they would save her if at all possible, and that he shouldn’t worry.

But those words of rehearsed encouragement shriveled on his tongue when he finally recognized the man standing in front of him.

Oikawa smiled a little, though it was clearly forced. “Hello, Iwa-chan. _Officer_ Iwa-chan.”

“Sergeant,” Hanamaki corrected. He spared a glance at the two of them before moving to kneel beside Matsukawa to give him a break. 

“Oikawa,” said Iwaizumi, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“You remember my name,” said Oikawa. “I’m flattered.”

“What are you doing out this late?”

“I was on my way home,” said Oikawa. He nodded in the general direction of Shiratorizawa. “I found her by accident. I thought she was just passed out from drinking too much or something, but… I guess not.”

“Yo, boss.” Matsukawa sat up on his knees and waved Iwaizumi over. “Look what’s in her pocket.”

Iwaizumi stepped forward and held out a hand. Matsukawa dropped a small clear plastic bag into his palm. 

“Looks the same, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Iwaizumi, eyeing the traces of powder clinging to the inside of the bag. It was mostly empty, and he had a pretty good guess where the rest had gone. “Yeah, it’s the same.” 

He was only a block and a half away from Shiratorizawa.

It looked like maybe Kuroo’s theory was right.

“Hang onto this,” he said, handing it back to Matsukawa. “We’ll have to send it for testing to be sure. See if she has anything else on her. We need as much information as we can get.”

“We’ll have to get her blood tested,” said Hanamaki between compressions. “From the looks of her arms that’s probably not the only thing in her system.”

Iwaizumi moved closer to peer over his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of bruises lining the inside of the woman’s elbow. 

Before he could respond, the flashing lights of an ambulance wheeled around the corner and approached at a pace that Iwaizumi felt wasn’t quite urgent enough. As the medics approached, the three of them backed away from the woman and allowed them to take over.

“Any response?” one of them asked.

“Nothing,” said Iwaizumi.

There was nothing more to say. They loaded her onto a stretcher and drove away, the red lights on the top of the ambulance still spinning.

Iwaizumi exhaled, the breath heavy. He checked his watch. It was four fifty-five. “Mattsun, get back to the station and get that bag packaged up for the lab. Once you’re done head home.”

“Sure thing, sarge.”

Iwaizumi wanted more than anything to have Hanamaki stay and get Oikawa’s statement so he didn’t have to speak to him. 

But it wasn’t fair for Hanamaki to stay late and suffer because of Iwaizumi. He was their sergeant now. He was supposed to be the responsible one.

“You can head out, Makki,” he said. “I’ll get the witness statement.”

“Shift 4 isn’t on duty yet.”

“They will be in five minutes. If anything happens before then I’ll handle it.”

Hanamaki looked from him to Oikawa, who was still standing a fair distance away. 

“Okay then,” he agreed. “See you tomorrow, Iwaizumi.”

“Be safe.”

Once the two cruisers had pulled away from the curb and both officers had confirmed with dispatch that they’d left the scene, Iwaizumi turned toward Oikawa.

“I’d like to get a written statement,” he said, using his professional police voice that Kunimi often mocked, “about what you saw. Extreme detail would be appreciated.”

He half expected some cocky statement from Oikawa, but he acquiesced with a shrug and a quiet, “Okay.”

Iwaizumi leaned against the back of his cruiser while Oikawa wrote out the statement with his elbows propped on the trunk of the car.

Oikawa nibbled on the end of the pen when he paused to think.

It was strangely endearing.

“I think that’s it,” he finally said, eyes sweeping the page one last time. “There’s really not much to tell. I didn’t see anything suspicious.”

“That’s fine,” said Iwaizumi. “Just sign your name at the bottom and list a good contact number. Someone in investigations might be in touch with you if they have any questions.”

“I would make a comment about you asking for my number,” said Oikawa, sliding the paper over to Iwaizumi, “but since I might’ve just watched a woman die in the middle of the street I guess it’s not the best time.”

“You’re right. Get home safe, Oikawa. Thanks for your time.”

He started around the side of the door but Oikawa followed.

“Wait!” he said. He reached out as if he was about to grab Iwaizumi’s arm but pulled back before he made contact. His arm dropped back to his side. “You never came back to the club.”

“So?”

Oikawa frowned at him. “I thought I made a good impression.”

“Listen, it’s been a long night. Once I wrap this up I can go home, so if you’ll excuse me-”

“What’s your next night off?”

“Oikawa-”

“Come on, Iwa-chan. Humor me.”

Iwaizumi struggled not to roll his eyes. He tried to be a professional when he was in uniform. “Saturday.”

“Okay then,” said Oikawa. “I’ll be at the club all night Saturday. You should come see me.”

“I’m not going to-”

“You should come see me!” he repeated again, speaking over him. “I know you had a good time with me, Iwa-chan. You can lie about it all you want but I know.”

Iwaizumi just looked at him. He was impossible to argue with.

“I’ll be going now,” said Oikawa, taking a few steps back. “Bye bye, Officer Iwa-chan. I’ll see you Saturday!”

He gave a quick wave before turning on his heel and starting down the street. Iwaizumi watched until he turned a corner, then climbed into his cruiser and tucked the written statement safely away. He would make a copy and send it to Kuroo along with the incident report that he was going to have to write before he was allowed to go home.

He checked the time. Five-seventeen.

He probably wouldn’t get to leave the station before six. Then he’d have to be back up and ready for another shift at five that evening. 

At least he only had two shifts left before he got a few days off. 

The first of those days off was Saturday.

Iwaizumi sighed and started driving toward the station, his grip on the wheel a little too tight. 

Meeting Oikawa on Saturday was a horrible idea.

There was no way in hell that he was going back to Shiratorizawa.


	3. Chapter 3

When Saturday night rolled around, Iwaizumi found himself sitting on a bar stool in the middle of Shiratorizawa, regretting every life decision that had led him to that point.

This time he was alone. He hadn’t told Makki or Mattsun he was coming. He felt his shame would be easier to bear in solitude.

He’d arrived earlier this time, and the club wasn’t quite as busy. There were still people clustered at tables and there was still a small crowd casually dancing, but the level of intoxication was significantly lower. 

The biggest difference, though, was that Oikawa was nowhere in sight.

Iwaizumi ordered a beer from the bartender, just to have something to do. The man who served his drink was a different bartender than the one Oikawa had called Semi. This one appeared younger, his hair cut asymmetrically across his forehead. Iwaizumi thanked him for the drink and wondered if this man knew anything about Oikawa. 

For example, did Oikawa Tooru make a habit out of luring men into the club and having his way with them? Was this a game for him, one that he was spectacularly good at? Should Iwaizumi make a run for it now, before it was too late?

“Well hello there, stranger.” 

The voice was a purr in his ear and Iwaizumi flinched away.

Oikawa laughed and hopped onto the stool beside him. “You’re very twitchy, Officer Iwa-chan.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You’re right, it’s too formal. Iwa-chan it is.”

“That’s not what I-”

“Kenji-chan!” Oikawa called, waving down the bartender. 

The man came over with an air of reluctance. “Oikawa-san,” he said. “The usual?”

“Yes. And put all of Iwa-chan’s drinks on my tab,” he said. He slung an arm over Iwaizumi’s shoulders, and he immediately slapped it away.

“You don’t have a tab,” said the bartender flatly. “You never pay for anything.”

“Which means Ushiwaka pays my tab, which means he’ll pay for Iwa-chan’s drinks, too.”

The man looked between them and shrugged. “Whatever.” 

When he moved away to fetch the drink, Oikawa said, “That’s Shirabu. He’s new, but he’s much better than Semi-chan. Semi won’t make anything the way I like because he says putting that much sugar in a drink is sacrilegious.”

Iwaizumi personally felt that Semi was probably acting in Oikawa’s best interest. He was already hyper enough without an excessive sugar intake.

“So, Iwa-chan,” said Oikawa. His voice dropped lower and he inched closer to Iwaizumi, their shoulders brushing. “You’re here earlier than expected. Couldn’t wait to see me?”

“It’s nine o’clock.”

“Early,” repeated Oikawa. “The crowd doesn’t usually roll in until after ten.”

“Well I’m not the crowd. I don’t usually come to places like this.”

Oikawa grinned. “I’m glad I could be the exception.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes as Shirabu returned with Oikawa’s drink. He left it on the counter without a word and Iwaizumi stared at it in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Oikawa reached for the mysterious concoction eagerly. It was bright blue liquid brimming to the edge of a fancy glass, complete with a tiny umbrella and a fully sugared rim. “This is heaven in a glass, Iwa-chan. Would you like to try it?”

“Hell no.”

Oikawa shrugged and downed half the drink at once. 

Iwaizumi turned back to his beer so he didn’t have to witness it.

His attention was pulled back when Oikawa slid a hand up his leg, warm palm resting high on his thigh. “You know,” he said quietly, voice barely audible over the music, “I didn’t think you were really going to come.”

“Yeah, I didn’t either.”

Oikawa smiled, and something about it was more genuine than he’d been since he’d plopped down at the bar. “I’m glad you did.”

Iwaizumi took another drink of his beer and didn’t respond. He was, however, very aware that Oikawa didn’t move his hand. It was burning into his flesh like a brand. He had a feeling that when he showered later, the outline of Oikawa’s hand would still be there.

“Hey,” said Oikawa, leaning in close. “Let’s go dance.”

Iwaizumi looked over his shoulder at the dance floor. More people had filtered in since he’d arrived, although everyone present still appeared relatively sober. 

He scanned the rest of the club. There were a lot of faces, but none seemed familiar. 

“Okay,” said Iwaizumi. He threw back the rest of his beer and suddenly wished he’d gotten something stronger. “Only one song though.”

“Whatever you say, Iwa-chan,” said Oikawa loftily. His hand left Iwaizumi’s leg to encircle his wrist, and he led him through the bar and into the thick of the dancers. 

It was a little different than last time. Oikawa still moved in ways that made him weak, and he still kept their bodies pressed together as closely as their movements would allow. 

But Oikawa gave him fewer of those smug, dirty looks. When he met his eyes, Oikawa’s were bright, his grin less barbed. Occasionally he would grind against Iwaizumi in an especially obscene way and he would laugh lightly, the sound licking at Iwaizumi like a flame. 

Oikawa was less seductive, and more playful, and Iwaizumi was still weak for him.

He looped his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck and pressed himself close, their bodies touching from chest to hip to thigh. Oikawa muffled a laugh against Iwaizumi’s neck and said, his lips tickling his ear, “Those guys over there keep staring at us. Think they’re jealous, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi turned slightly to see who he meant. Two men sat at a table by the door, their backs to the wall, eyes on the dancers. One was tall and gangly, light hair reflecting the low light of the club. The other was shorter and sterner and strangely familiar.

The man was looking directly at them, and a sudden stab of recognition made Iwaizumi choke. 

He extracted himself from Oikawa and stumbled back, even though he knew it was already too late. 

He wondered if he could pretend to be drunk and use that as an excuse, like Hanamaki had suggested. 

He wondered if he could pretend to be Iwaizumi Hajime’s twin brother who happened to be interested in pretty men.

More importantly, he wondered how long he had left until he was fired.

“Iwa-chan?” said Oikawa, following as he retreated from the dance floor. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I have to go.”

Oikawa’s face snapped from concern to anger in a millisecond. He seized Iwaizumi’s arm and spun him around. “You are _not_ doing this to me, Iwa-chan. You’re not just going to play games with me and run away again.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then what’s wrong? Is one of them your boyfriend or something? Are you cheating on your boyfriend with me?”

“No!” said Iwaizumi. He was speaking too loudly, but the club’s atmosphere sucked away the excess noise. “I don’t have… I know them, okay? They work in investigations.”

Oikawa looked unimpressed. “So?”

“So I shouldn’t be here with you,” he said, the words running together so quickly that they were barely comprehensible. “I shouldn’t be out like this, with you. Not just you, just in general. They saw me, and it’s not good. I shouldn’t have been so careless. I’m so _stupid_.”

Oikawa’s look of utter confusion morphed into sudden understanding. “Oh,” he said quietly, the single syllable hanging between them. “Oh. You’re… you’re not out.”

“No, I’m not _out_ ,” said Iwaizumi, spitting the word. “You can’t do what I do and be _out_. Shit.”

“You should go talk to them.”

“What? I can’t do that.”

“It’s better than just running away,” said Oikawa. He gripped Iwaizumi’s arm and nudged him in the direction of the table. “Go talk to them. Maybe they’ll be cool about it.”

“I doubt that.”

“Just try, Iwa-chan. It’s not going to make it any worse, right?”

That was true, at least. He was already fucked.

It wasn’t as if he was going to dig his grave any deeper.

Maybe he could at least buy himself some time before they told everyone else. Maybe enough time for him to transfer to an agency in a different city, or to reinvent himself in a different career.

Fuck.

He made his way through the crowd and slowly approached the table where the two investigators sat. Iwaizumi balled up his hands and shoved them into his pockets so he could pretend they weren’t shaking. 

He swallowed as he came to a stop at the edge of the table. “Yaku-san,” he said, nodding at the shorter of the two.

“Sergeant,” said Yaku, returning the greeting. He glanced to the side, at his partner. “Have you met Lev?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” he said. The pleasantries were putting him on edge. If they could just skip to the part where he was ridiculed it would be less nerve-wracking. “Nice to meet you, Lev-kun.”

“Sergeant Iwaizumi-san!” said Lev. His eyes were bright, his grin a little lopsided. “It’s nice to meet you, too!”

He seemed cheerful enough, but he wasn’t the one Iwaizumi was concerned about. He looked back to Yaku, a feeble excuse dying on his tongue.

“Don’t,” said Yaku, cutting him off before he could speak. “It’s fine, Iwaizumi-san. There’s nothing to talk about.” He slid his stare to the side. “Right, Lev?”

“Huh? Oh, it’s a secret? Excellent, I’m great with secrets!”

Iwaizumi was too shocked to feel relieved. It couldn’t be that easy. Nothing in his life had ever been that easy.

“If you would like to keep your privacy,” said Yaku, “I would suggest that you go elsewhere. Kuroo-san sent us to scope out the club. The other investigators will probably be sent here in the near future as well.”

“Right,” said Iwaizumi. “I, umm… Yaku-san, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” said Yaku. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. Just be more careful if you’d like to keep your secrets to yourself. I won’t say anything, and Lev won’t either. Right, Lev?”

“Right!”

The relief finally hit him, blossoming in his chest like spring sunlight. “Thank you, Yaku-san,” he said, bowing slightly. “Your discretion is appreciated.”

“Good to meet you, Sergeant Iwaizumi-san!” said Lev, waving widely. “I’ve heard you’re a really good officer. Maybe we’ll get to work together sometime!”

From the exasperated look on Yaku’s face, Iwaizumi felt that wasn’t something he’d like to experience.

But if the kid was going to be so unaffected after seeing Iwaizumi grinding on another man in the middle of a club, he’d work with him anytime.

“Sure, Lev-kun. I’ll see you around.”

Iwaizumi dissolved back into the crowd, feeling slightly less sure that his life was grinding to a halt.

Yaku had been a valued member of the investigations team for the better part of a decade. If he said he was going to keep Iwaizumi’s confidence, he meant it. If he said Lev wasn’t going to talk about it, then he definitely meant that, too.

Iwaizumi released the breath he’d been holding, and his lungs felt as if they were deflating. He wandered back to the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey to calm his nerves. It was delivered by the other bartender, Semi, who eyed him with a raised brow as he threw back the shot.

“You here with Oikawa again?” 

Iwaizumi’s throat burned. He coughed once and slid the empty glass back across the counter. “Yeah.”

“No wonder you’re resorting to heavy drinking. Want another one?”

Iwaizumi shook his head, then immediately changed his mind. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

Semi refilled the glass and Iwaizumi tossed that one back as well. A pleasant burn surged in his stomach and he sighed.

“You seem pretty normal,” said Semi. “How’d you get caught up with him?”

This probably wasn’t a conversation that Iwaizumi should be having, especially with the scare that Yaku had just given him.

But it wasn’t as if Semi was someone he knew. He was just a random bartender who was apparently accustomed to Oikawa’s antics.

“I have no idea,” he said. He looked up at Semi. “Should I run?”

Semi pursed his lips and considered the question. “Oikawa is kind of a jerk, but he’s not that bad, I guess. If you can handle his attitude.”

Iwaizumi snorted, thought about asking for one more shot, then decided against it. His head was already starting to buzz a little. He didn’t drink often enough to have a useful tolerance, especially not for hard liquor. 

“Anyway, he seems to like you,” said Semi. He poured the glass full again and pushed it toward Iwaizumi. “He hasn’t let somebody fuck him in the middle of the dance floor like that in a long time. Guess you’re lucky.”

Iwaizumi shook his head at the alcohol.

“On the house,” said Semi. He looked at something over Iwaizumi’s shoulder and rolled his eyes. “Good luck,” he said before floating away to speak with another set of customers.

Iwaizumi wasn’t surprised when Oikawa slithered up beside him. “Everything okay, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi nodded. He offered the shot to Oikawa, who shook his head. 

He took it himself, regretting it as soon as the alcohol hit the back of his throat.

“You don’t look okay.”

“I’m fine,” said Iwaizumi. He slapped the glass down on the bar. “They were cool about it, like you said.”

Oikawa grinned. “See, Iwa-chan? I’m always right. It’s something you’ll have to get used to.”

“Shut up, Trashykawa.” The name rose to his lips like it belonged there.

Oikawa’s jaw dropped. “That was rude, Iwa-chan!”

“I’m rude. It’s something you’ll have to get used to.”

Oikawa pouted for a total of ten seconds before a smirk tugged at his mouth. “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?” he said. “There are private rooms in the back. I got a key from one of the bouncers. No one will see us back there.”

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure if Oikawa was showing concern for Iwaizumi’s privacy or if he was just finding a convenient excuse to go somewhere and fuck.

Either way, Iwaizumi probably wasn’t going to complain about it.

“Sure,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Oikawa’s grin was pure satisfaction. He led Iwaizumi to the back of the bar, where a door labeled “employees only” pushed inward to reveal a stretch of hallway beyond. 

Iwaizumi followed him without argument, pleased that he was walking in a straight line. The walls seemed to be swaying a bit, but the pleasant buzz in the back of his brain left little room for concern.

Oikawa stopped at one of the doors and clumsily fitted a key into the lock. When he successfully gained entry, he waved Iwaizumi in first.

The room beyond was small, but comfortable. There was a couch on one wall, facing a flat-screen television on the other. There was a mini bar in one corner, but it looked as if it hadn’t been stocked in a while. 

“Ushiwaka rents out the private rooms sometimes,” explained Oikawa, shutting the door behind them. He locked it, and Iwaizumi felt a jolt. He wasn’t sure if it was unease or anticipation. “Usually only for special events like New Years, though, so we won’t be bothered tonight.”

There was a dial on the wall by the door and Oikawa fiddled with it until the sound of music bled into the room, an echo of the distant melody pounding in the main area of the club. 

“Have a seat, Iwa-chan. Make yourself at home.”

Iwaizumi moved toward the couch, still mutedly surprised by his own balance. He was handling the shots better than he’d expected. 

He plopped down on one end of the couch, the leather growling beneath the pressure. It was cool to the touch and Iwaizumi leaned his head back, enjoying the texture on the back of his neck. 

Oikawa sat beside him, one leg curled onto the couch so he could face Iwaizumi, their knees touching.

“So Iwa-chan,” he said conversationally. He trailed his fingers along the inside of Iwaizumi’s forearm, the contact light and fleeting. “Are you having a good time?”

Other than almost having his career meet a painful end, Iwaizumi supposed the night wasn’t all that bad. “I guess so. The company could use some improvement.”

Oikawa smirked. “Deny it all you want, Iwa-chan. I know you like me.”

Iwaizumi slid his gaze to Oikawa. He was leaning close, his body pressing into the side of Iwaizumi’s, breath hot in the air between them. 

“I like you better,” said Iwaizumi, “when you’re not talking.”

Oikawa inched even closer. One of his hands pressed against Iwaizumi’s chest, then slid up to curl around his neck. “Then give me something better to do.”

Iwaizumi wanted to blame the overwhelming surge of desire on the alcohol, but he probably would’ve experienced the same thing sober.

He cupped a hand around Oikawa’s jaw and pulled him into a kiss. Oikawa’s tongue immediately prodded at his lips and he licked out to meet him, tasting the lingering sugar-sweetness of Oikawa’s drink. He slipped his tongue into Oikawa’s mouth for more, searching along the roof of his mouth and the back of his teeth, tongues tangling together between hot breaths. 

He slid his hand back and threaded his fingers through Oikawa’s hair. He pulled back and trapped Oikawa’s lip between his teeth, tugging, and Oikawa made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan that made Iwaizumi shudder.

Oikawa’s eyes fluttered open. They were hazy and distant but when they fixed on Iwaizumi, they sharpened with need. He pressed his mouth against Iwaizumi’s again, this time with purpose. It was a slide of tongues and a nip of teeth and Iwaizumi’s blood burned like it was aflame.

Oikawa’s hands found Iwaizumi’s shoulders and he shifted, straddling him, his knees nestled on either side of Iwaizumi’s thighs. Even as he moved he didn’t stop kissing him, didn’t break the seal of sliding lips.

Iwaizumi gripped Oikawa’s thighs, moved his hands upward to cup Oikawa’s ass, and squeezed it through his tight jeans.

Oikawa moaned, and Iwaizumi swallowed the sound.

Oikawa tightened his grip on Iwaizumi’s shoulders and ground his hips down. Iwaizumi broke away from the kiss to throw his head back, a curse tumbling from his lips. Oikawa took advantage and dipped down to lick at Iwaizumi’s neck, spattering the skin with gentle bites and swirls of his tongue. He pressed his hips down again and breathed a moan into Iwaizumi’s neck.

“Iwa-chan,” he said, the name half whisper and half gasp. It was like a brand against Iwaizumi’s skin. His hands tangled in the back of Iwaizumi’s hair, keeping his head back. Oikawa sucked against his neck, hips still rolling. “Please, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi didn’t know exactly what he was asking for, but he did know that he was about to agree to it, no matter what it was. 

“Please what?”

“Fuck me on this couch,” he said, the request punctuated by a scrape of teeth. “I want you right here.”

At his current level of intoxication, Iwaizumi couldn’t think of a single reason to deny him.

He probably could have come up with a couple sober, but he was fairly certain that the feeling of Oikawa writhing in his lap would have left little room for even the best arguments.

Iwaizumi tightened his hold on Oikawa and swept him to the side, pressing his back against the couch and pinning him in place with the weight of his own body. Oikawa’s legs wrapped around Iwaizumi’s hips, keeping them pressed together. 

Iwaizumi launched his own attack against Oikawa’s neck, peppering it with bites that he hoped would bruise for at least a week.

He wanted Oikawa to remember this. He wanted Oikawa to remember _him_.

Oikawa gasped and squirmed beneath the attention, nails clawing at Iwaizumi’s back, hips rutting upward to seek friction. 

Iwaizumi ground down against him, hard.

Oikawa threw his head back with a moan and a few scattered syllables that might have been _Iwa-chan_.

A familiar sound scratched at the edges of Iwaizumi’s haze, dulled by alcohol and lust. He should have cared, but there was too much for him to focus on. Oikawa’s hands had slipped beneath his shirt and were exploring his stomach and his chest, palms scorching. He pulled down the collar of Oikawa’s shirt and mouthed at his collarbone, mapping out the sharp planes with lips and tongue.

There was a voice, and at first he thought it was Oikawa. 

But it was strange that Oikawa would be saying his own name.

Iwaizumi looked up and found Oikawa staring across the room, cheeks aflame in desire and outrage.

Iwaizumi turned his head. A man stood in the doorway, a ring of keys dangling from the crook of his finger. He scowled at the pair of them, brows low, face stony.

Iwaizumi crawled off of Oikawa and sat back, his heart hammering against his chest. Suddenly he was sober enough to taste the tension in the air, shimmering like sun-baked asphalt as Oikawa stood to face the intruder.

“What the _fuck_ ,” said Oikawa slowly, voice still rough, “are you doing?”

The man was unfazed by the venom lacing Oikawa’s voice.

“You should stay in the public area,” the man said. His voice was deep, unaffected. “It is not safe to be alone like this with a stranger.” His firm gaze found Iwaizumi.

“He’s not a _stranger_ ,” said Oikawa, his tone dangerous. “Iwa-chan is a police officer. He’s safe.”

Iwaizumi was torn between kicking Oikawa for revealing his occupation and crawling beneath the couch when the man again looked at him.

“That does not mean he is safe,” said the man flatly. 

“Fuck off, Ushiwaka,” Oikawa hissed. “Get _out_.”

“I am not leaving you alone with him.”

“How did you even know I was back here?” snapped Oikawa. “Did Tendou rat me out? That fucking-”

“Tendou said nothing. I installed cameras after last month’s incident.”

“You installed… you were _watching us_?” Oikawa said, his voice scraping an octave higher.

“Please return to the public area,” the man – apparently Ushiwaka – repeated. “If you do then I will not bother you.”

“It’s too late for that. What does it matter anyway? If Iwa-chan is going to murder me then he can take me to his place and do it. How are you going to stop that, Ushiwaka?”

“I can only control what happens here. If you are going to be irresponsible elsewhere then I cannot stop you.”

Oikawa looked so enraged that he couldn’t string together another sentence. He fought with his words for a moment and then gave in with a muffled sound of outrage. “Let’s go, Iwa-chan.” 

Ushiwaka stepped back as they passed, but Oikawa made sure to ram his shoulder into Ushiwaka’s chest anyway, knocking him back a step. 

Iwaizumi followed along on numb legs as Oikawa led him back to the front of the club, where more people had poured in since they’d sneaked away. Yaku and Lev were still present, and Iwaizumi hoped he didn’t look too much like he’d been five minutes from a good fuck.

A bouncer stood by the front door, and Oikawa threw a key at him as they moved past. The man caught it with nimble fingers, leering at the pair of them. “Did I forget to mention the new cameras?” he said, feigning innocence. “Oopsie.”

“Fuck you, Tendou.”

The man laughed, but Oikawa was already stepping outside, seizing Iwaizumi’s sleeve to pull him along.

Oikawa’s anger settled only a little outside the stifling atmosphere of the club. He paced back and forth the on the sidewalk, spitting curses intermingled with the name “Ushiwaka”.

“Oikawa, calm down.” Any lasting effects of the alcohol were so muted that Iwaizumi felt as if he’d drank nothing. The cold, miserable sobriety made him realize how stupid he’d been. 

He’d never made these kinds of mistakes before. He never should have danced with Oikawa that first night. That had been the first thing that had gone wrong. Then Yaku, and the Ushiwaka person who now knew he was an officer, which gave him enough information to destroy Iwaizumi’s reputation.

Iwaizumi had always considered himself a competent, intelligent human being.

Something about Oikawa had shattered his common sense. 

It would be in his best interest to distance himself now, before things got even more out of hand. But when he looked at Oikawa, fuming on the street but still looking like the product of a miraculous wet dream, he already knew it wasn’t going to be that easy.

“I can’t believe him,” Oikawa spat. He paused in his pacing to scowl at the front of the club. They’d walked across the street before stopping. Iwaizumi wasn’t sure where Oikawa intended to go. “Fucking Ushiwaka. That bastard has no fucking decency. I _hate_ him.”

“Oikawa, it’s fine.”

“It is _not_ fine.” Oikawa’s foot stomped against the sidewalk, like a toddler in the middle of a tantrum. “Just because he can’t be happy he has to ruin _everything_. I’m going to kill him, Iwa-chan. I’m going to kill him and you’ll have to arrest me.”

Iwaizumi tried to fight the smile tugging at the corner of his lips, which were raw from the friction of Oikawa’s mouth. “I don’t think you’d do well in prison.”

“Why not? I’m tough.”

Iwaizumi laughed. Oikawa looked offended.

“Doesn’t matter how tough you are,” he said. He reached up to brush at a stray lock of Oikawa’s hair. “You’re too pretty for prison.”

He felt his face grow warm, immediately embarrassed by the sappy compliment.

The look on Oikawa’s face was worth it.

His anger visibly drained, mouth opening slightly in surprise. Then he pulled a smirk onto his face and said, “Aww, Iwa-chan thinks I’m pretty.”

“Only when you’re not talking.”

“Rude.”

Iwaizumi pressed his lips together to keep from laughing and checked the time. It was late; too late for him to ask Oikawa to come over to his place without giving off the vibe of a trashy booty call. 

And as badly as he wanted to pick up where they’d left off in the club, now didn’t seem like the time.

“Hey, do you want to go out sometime?”

“Are you asking me on a date, Iwa-chan?”

“Against my better judgment, yes.”

Oikawa smiled. “Of course. Give me your phone.” 

They exchanged numbers. Oikawa typed a heart next to his name as he saved his contact information in Iwaizumi’s phone. Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and chose not to comment.

“Where are you going to take me, Iwa-chan?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere away from here so your creepy friend won’t be watching.”

“He’s not my friend,” Oikawa mumbled, but the heat of his anger had faded. “He’s just a jerk that I can’t get away from.”

That topic was clearly a minefield, and Iwaizumi steered them away from it. “Think about where you want to go and let me know. I’m off next Friday, if you’re free then.”

“It’s a date.” Oikawa looked around, scanning the vacant street. Then he stepped closer and pressed his lips against Iwaizumi’s, the kiss chaste, fleeting. “I’ll see you soon, Iwa-chan.”

He skipped back across the street, pausing at the door of the club and turning to wave at Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi waved back, vaguely wondering why Oikawa was going back to Shiratorizawa if he was so angry, but choosing not to think too hard about it.

He had a date, and he wasn’t sure if he was more pleased or horrified.


	4. Chapter 4

Iwaizumi thought if he told Hanamaki and Matsukawa about what happened, they would try to talk him out the date with Oikawa. That was what he needed; a voice of reason amid the chaos of his bad decisions.

As usual, he was disappointed. 

“Hell yeah, sarge has a date!” said Matsukawa, too loudly. 

Iwaizumi shushed him, though there was no need. They were in the patrol room at the station, which was empty aside from the three of them. An unfinished report was displayed on the computer screen in front of Hanamaki, the work completely forgotten. 

Iwaizumi was not setting a good example as a sergeant.

“I’m so proud,” said Hanamaki. He slapped a hand to his chest, the sound of impact dull against the bulletproof vest beneath his uniform. “Our baby bird is finally leaving the nest.”

“Spread your wings and fly,” said Matsukawa, his voice lofty.

“Both of you shut up,” snapped Iwaizumi. 

The two of them shared a look and a laugh. Iwaizumi’s stern face had lost its effect on them years ago. 

“You’re supposed to be my friends,” said Iwaizumi, sinking back in his chair. It rolled back several inches and bumped against the corner of a desk. “Tell me it’s a bad idea and I should call it off.”

The two of them looked at each other again. Iwaizumi swore they’d developed some sort of telepathy over the years.

“But it’s not,” said Hanamaki. “It’s a good idea and you should go.”

“Definitely.”

“Did you guys not hear the part where Yaku saw me?” said Iwaizumi. “Or the part where some creep that Oikawa knows walked in on us?”

“Yaku is cool,” said Matsukawa with a shrug. “I’d trust him.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Iwaizumi wondered if it was possible to trade them in for different friends.

“Besides,” said Hanamaki, suddenly serious, “times are changing, Iwaizumi. It might not be as big of a deal as you think. Sure, some people are going to be uncomfortable with it, but they don’t matter anyway. We’ve got your back, and I’m sure the rest of our shift would, too.”

“I’m not worried about the guys on our shift,” said Iwaizumi, although he truly was. “I’m worried about the captains and the chief and the general public. If I had a different job then yeah, maybe it would be fine. But I don’t. Other than having to deal with you idiots, I like my job. I don’t want to lose it over this.”

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence. He pointedly refused to look at them, keeping his eyes on the far wall instead.

Even though he knew they accepted him, he still didn’t like talking about it.

“But you’re still going to go out with Oikawa?” asked Mattsun.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I know I shouldn’t.”

“You should,” said Makki. “You have to. If you feel like you need to completely keep your work life and your personal life separate, then fine. But you don’t deserve to be unhappy because of it. You’re going to go out with him and have a good time and get laid. It’ll mellow you out.”

Iwaizumi glared up at him. “You shouldn’t talk to your sergeant like that.”

“I’m not talking to my sergeant. I’m talking to my _friend_.”

Maybe Iwaizumi wouldn’t trade them in, after all.

“202, 701.”

It took Iwaizumi a moment to recognize the voice speaking into his ear, even paired with the call number. The investigations department rarely used the radio.

“701, go ahead.”

“What’s your twenty?” asked Kuroo.

“Ten-nineteen.”

“Ten-four.”

The radio went quiet and that was the end of the conversation. Iwaizumi raised his eyebrows. “What was that about?”

Matsukawa leaned over and tapped a few letters on Hanamaki’s keyboard, only to be slapped away. “Sounded like he wants to talk to you. He’s probably coming over.”

For a moment Iwaizumi wondered what Kuroo would possibly need to talk to him about that couldn’t be discussed over the phone.

Then he quickly stood as he realized.

“Shit,” he said, his heart rate picking up. “Yaku told him. Yaku fucking told him.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa looked up at him, startled.

“I’ve never seen you this jumpy,” said Matsukawa.

“Yaku wouldn’t do that,” said Hanamaki. “If he said he wouldn’t tell then he won’t tell.”

Iwaizumi processed that. “It was the new guy then, Lev. He told him.”

“No one told him anything,” said Hanamaki. He scooted his chair to the side, so he could see Iwaizumi better around the computer screen. “You’re being paranoid, sarge. It’s not a good look on you.”

“Then what else would he need to talk about?”

“Literally anything,” said Matsukawa. “You don’t even know for sure he’s coming. Maybe he was just wondering.”

That wasn’t very convincing, especially not when Kuroo strolled through the door five minutes later.

“Ah, the patrol room,” he announced as he stepped inside. He inhaled deeply. “It still smells like stale coffee and sleepless nights.”

Hanamaki rolled his eyes and Matsukawa looked utterly unimpressed.

Iwaizumi, who had resumed his seat and was trying not to look guilty, snorted. “You know you miss patrol sometimes. We get all the action.”

“And all the night shifts,” added Kuroo. He wheeled out a desk chair and plopped into it. “I’ve had to put my guys on some nights lately, though. We had four more incidents this week where we found that drug. None of them were as bad as yours though, Iwaizumi. That OD was the worst so far.” 

“Did you ever get her bloodwork back?”

“Nah, still waiting. When her family came to identify the body they said she had a pill problem though. Whatever she was already on probably reacted badly to the new drug.”

Iwaizumi nodded. He was starting to relax, despite the unpleasant subject matter. Kuroo seemed normal. He wasn’t speaking differently or giving Iwaizumi strange looks.

Maybe Yaku really hadn’t said anything.

“So listen,” said Kuroo, “I arranged a meeting with the owner of the Swan Club. Why don’t you come with me, sergeant? Your shift has handled most of the calls. You should be in on it.”

Iwaizumi went rigid at the mention of the club. He looked to Hanamaki and Matsukawa, both of whom were looking back.

“The owner?” said Iwaizumi, buying himself a moment to come up with an excuse.

“Yeah, his name’s Ushijima. He bought the club about six or seven years ago. He agreed to answer some questions. You in?”

Iwaizumi glanced at his friends again, hoping they’d offer an excuse for him. 

They were silent.

Iwaizumi turned the name over in his head. _Ushijima_. It was vaguely familiar, but perhaps only because of the creep that Oikawa had called Ushiwaka. The names were similar; maybe the two men were related. 

No matter how much he wanted to avoid Shiratorizawa, Iwaizumi couldn’t produce a viable reason. It wasn’t as if he could simply say no and be done with it. Kuroo was Captain of investigations; he was outranked.

“Sure,” said Iwaizumi, hoping his reluctance wasn’t obvious. “When?”

Kuroo checked his watch. “Ten minutes. Come on, you’re driving.”

  
  
  
  
It was ten o’clock on a Wednesday morning, so Iwaizumi expected the club to be vacant. 

He was right, to an extent. There wasn’t a customer in sight, but after an unfamiliar bouncer allowed them inside, Iwaizumi saw a familiar face.

Semi was sitting on the edge of the bar, feet dangling off the ground. He was reading something, occasionally peering over the edge of the book to study someone crouched beneath a table, cleaning.

When Kuroo and Iwaizumi entered the room, Semi put his book down.

“Welcome, officers,” he said, eyes lingering knowingly on Iwaizumi. 

The person cleaning slammed their head against the underside of the table when they tried to stand.

There was a yelp, and he emerged with a hand pressed to the back of his skull, wide eyes taking in the visitors.

“Goshiki, show the officers to the boss’s office,” said Semi. He picked up his book again. “And hurry back. You’re only halfway done.”

“Yes, Semi-senpai!”

The boy eagerly stepped forward and led them through a familiar hallway. Iwaizumi tried not to glance at the door that led to the private room he and Oikawa had visited. Goshiki took them up a flight of stairs and then to a plain door in the middle of another hallway. He rapped his knuckles against it three times and waited for a response before pushing it open.

“Ushijima-san,” he said. “You have visitors.”

“Send them in. Thank you, Goshiki.”

“Yes!” he said loudly, a dust of pink coloring his cheeks. He backed out of the room and waved the two of them inside.

Kuroo went first, and despite the man’s typically lazy demeanor, Iwaizumi noted Kuroo turn his head to each side, scanning the inside of the room. Iwaizumi did the same when he entered, taking note of the single door at the back corner of the room and the stretch of windows on the far wall, against which Ushijima’s desk was silhouetted.

Ushijima was the last thing that Iwaizumi looked at, and he almost choked.

His poorly created theory about Ushijima and Ushiwaka being related was wrong.

They were the same person.

Oikawa Tooru and his stupid nicknames were literally going to ruin Iwaizumi’s life.

“Ushijima-san,” said Kuroo politely. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. I’m Detective Kuroo Tetsurou, Captain of investigations. This is Sergeant Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kuroo-san,” said Ushijima. His voice was a deep rumble, his stony gaze shifting to Iwaizumi. “Nice to see you again, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi clenched his jaw as Kuroo glanced at him, clearly curious.

“Have a seat,” said Ushijima, gesturing toward the two chairs placed in front of his desk. “Would you like something to drink? My bartender can make coffee as well as alcoholic beverages.”

“No, thank you,” said Kuroo, sitting in one of the offered chairs. “I’d just like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

If Iwaizumi’s nerves hadn’t been strung so tightly he would’ve been a little relieved that Kuroo declined the offer of coffee. That meant he didn’t plan to stay for a significant length of time.

Iwaizumi sat in the last chair, shoulders rigid. He didn’t look away from Ushijima. This man clearly did not approve of him, according to the way he’d behaved when he’d walked in on him and Oikawa. He should have no reservations about making a comment about the encounter, one that would clue in Kuroo to the situation.

It was fortunate that Iwaizumi wasn’t expected to contribute to the conversation. Kuroo carried it on his own with ease. He explained the incidents with the new drug compound and its prevalence in that area of the city. He told Ushijima about the grid he’d drawn out that suggested Shiratorizawa was at the center of the activity. He worded it carefully, in a way that could not be interpreted as accusation. 

“Since you’ve owned the club for a while,” said Kuroo, “you probably know what’s going on around here better than anyone. Have you noticed anything strange or out of the ordinary? Different people hanging around the club, shifty behavior, money changing hands?”

Ushijima answered the questions with extreme composure. He hadn’t seen anything suspicious. The customers seemed the same as usual. There had been no change in the number of fights or the level of profits.

He was utterly unruffled by the questioning until Kuroo shifted focus.

“Have you noticed any of your employees acting differently?” he asked. He drummed his fingers against his thigh, still laser-focused on Ushijima. “Has anyone been showing up late or behaving oddly?”

Ushijima’s perpetually stony face dipped into a scowl. “My employees are efficient, as always.”

“I’m sure they are,” Kuroo agreed easily, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. “But I’m sure it’s hard for you to monitor them at all times. Some employers require random drug screening. Do you do that here?”

“I do not have them tested. None of them use drugs.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I do not allow such behavior at my establishment.”

Kuroo slid Iwaizumi a glance. It was the first time he’d looked at him since they entered the room. “Of course,” said Kuroo. “I apologize if I offended you. I just have to cover all my bases. I hope you understand.”

Ushijima nodded, though he still looked unhappy. “I understand.”

“I saw that you have a few employees here right now,” said Kuroo. “Would you mind if we asked them a few questions on our way out?”

“I would rather you did not. They have work to do.”

“Got it,” said Kuroo, raising his hands as if in surrender. “No worries. We’ll get out of your way then. Thank you for your time, Ushijima-san.” He stood, slid a business card out of his pocket, and placed it on the edge of Ushijima’s desk. “If you notice anything out of the ordinary please give me a call.”

Ushijima observed the card and then looked up at Iwaizumi as he stood.

“Yes,” he said, still watching Iwaizumi. “I will do that.”

Kuroo looked between them and then started toward the door. “We’ll see ourselves out. Thank you again, Ushijima-san.”

Iwaizumi followed. He felt the weight of Ushijima’s stare until he stepped into the hallway. 

Kuroo raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t speak until they’d left the building and gotten back into Iwaizumi’s cruiser.

“You didn’t say you knew Ushijima.”

Iwaizumi tried to remain stoic as he started the car. Kuroo was extremely perceptive. If he acted even a little uncomfortable, he’d pick up on it.

“I only met him once,” said Iwaizumi. “It was very brief. We didn’t even exchange names. I didn’t know he owned the club.”

It was only partially a lie. Kuroo seemed to buy it.

“He’s a weird guy,” he said, staring out the window as they drove back toward the station. “Do you think he was being suspicious?”

Iwaizumi thought back to Ushijima’s reactions when asked about his employees.

“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe he’s just defensive about the guys who work for him.”

Kuroo hummed and slouched in his seat. “Either way it was kind of a waste. I need to have Kenma spend a night or two in the club. He’ll hate me for it, but he picks up on things I would never notice. If something shady is going on he’ll know.”

Iwaizumi had met Kozume a couple of times. At first glance he hadn’t seemed like much of an investigator, but when he’d made fleeting eye contact, Iwaizumi saw the gears turning in his head. Kozume analyzed everything, constantly. It was a little intimidating.

“I’d like to send Lev with him,” Kuroo muttered, “but they might seriously injure each other.”

Iwaizumi snorted, and the heavy atmosphere inside the vehicle was lifted.

Iwaizumi parked beside Kuroo’s undercover SUV, said his goodbyes, and went into the station with a sense of relief. That could have been an absolute crisis. It still could be, if Ushijima decided to run his mouth. 

The only thing Iwaizumi could really do was hope for the best.

It would probably be in his best interest to avoid Oikawa Tooru, as well. The first step would be ignoring the text that he’d received sometime during his meeting with Ushijima, which he didn’t notice until he was again sitting in the patrol room.

“You’re smiling at your phone,” said Hanamaki, looking flatly at him over his computer screen. 

Iwaizumi wiped off the smile in favor of a scowl. He and Hanamaki were alone, Matsukawa having returned to routine patrol. “I wasn’t smiling.”

“Sure you weren’t. What did Oikawa say?”

Iwaizumi sighed but gave in. “He wants me to take him to dinner and buy him roses. He must be joking about the roses though, right?”

Hanamaki’s mouth curled into a grin, but before he could make a snide comment the door banged open and Kunimi slouched in, a bag of takeout swinging in his hand.

“Longest day ever,” Kunimi mumbled. He plopped down in a vacant chair and started spreading his food out on the table. 

“It’s only eleven-thirty,” said Hanamaki.

“Exactly. Longest day ever.”

Iwaizumi and Hanamaki shared a look. They were used to Kunimi’s complaints.

“Anyway,” said Hanamaki, “I think roses would be nice. They would show that you really care, you know?”

Iwaizumi’s stare was flat. “I’m not buying flowers.”

Kunimi looked over his shoulder and spoke through a mouthful of rice. “Do you have a date?”

Iwaizumi said “No” at the same time Hanamaki said “Yes.”

They exchanged a look, Hanamaki grinning and Iwaizumi glaring.

“Don’t get flowers,” said Kunimi. “Especially not roses, not until you’ve been dating for a long time. She’ll think you want to marry her or something.”

“What if he does want to marry her?” said Hanamaki, leering at Iwaizumi.

“Shut up, Makki. I’m not marrying anyone.”

Hanamaki shrugged. “Someday,” he said, the word singsong.

“Where are you taking her?” asked Kunimi, still stuffing his mouth with food. It was disgusting, but Iwaizumi was used to it. Developing the ability to scarf down a full meal in under two minutes was a necessity of being a police officer. If you didn’t eat fast, you didn’t always get to eat. 

“Dinner,” said Iwaizumi. Carefully, he added, “ _She_ told me to pick the restaurant.”

Kunimi lit up. He didn’t get excited about many things, but food was one of his favorite subjects. He swallowed, hard, and started talking about the best places in town, detailing the price ranges and the specialties and the level of romantic atmosphere. 

Iwaizumi just stared at him.

Hanamaki muffled his laughter in the crook of his arm.

When Kunimi paused for breath, a dispatcher spoke through the radio. “209, dispatch.”

Kunimi groaned. It sounded like a dying cow. “209.”

“Ten forty-five on Block 34, in front of the convenience store. Single vehicle.”

Kunimi groaned again. He reached for his radio to respond, but Iwaizumi spoke first.

“Dispatch, 202. I’ll take the forty-five. ETA six minutes.”

“Ten-four, 202.”

“You don’t have to,” Kunimi said, though they all knew it was said from obligation. He was already digging his chopsticks back into his takeout. “I can get it.”

“Finish your lunch,” said Iwaizumi. “I don’t mind. Makki, stop procrastinating on that report. You should’ve finished it an hour ago.”

He pretended not to see Hanamaki roll his eyes as he left the room.

A few minutes later he parked his cruiser behind a small blue car that had probably been a nice vehicle before it had been driven directly into a street lamp.

A man sat on the sidewalk with his head in his hands, muttering under his breath.

Iwaizumi approached slowly, taking a quick inventory of the damage before focusing on the man. “Sir?” he said. “Are you alright?”

The man looked up. There was a small cut across his right cheek, but other than that he appeared to be in perfect health.

Iwaizumi didn’t fail to notice the extreme dilation of his pupils. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said the man. His speech was normal, at least. “Fucked up my car though. Shit.”

“What happened?”

The man grunted and climbed to his feet. He dusted himself off and said, “Some idiot ran me off the side of the road. I thought they were going to plow into me. I didn’t notice the street lamp until it was right there, you know?”

Iwaizumi did know. He knew that smelled like a lie.

“Can I see your ID?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” The man patted at his back pocket, then dipped his hand into the front one. He caught the corner of a small wallet and pulled it out. 

A plastic bag had been wedged in his pocket alongside the wallet, and as it was freed, the bag fell to the ground.

Both of them stared at it. It was small, clear, and half full of a too-familiar powder.

Iwaizumi looked up just in time to see the man’s eyes dart to the side.

“Don’t even _think_ about running,” Iwaizumi spat. “I’m not in the mood. I’d rather taze you than chase you.”

The man took the warning to heart. He didn’t resist as Iwaizumi spun him around and twisted his arms behind his back. “I’m just detaining you,” he explained. “You’re not necessarily under arrest yet. I’m going to give you a chance to cooperate first and we’ll see where we go from there, got it?”

“Yeah, got it.”

Iwaizumi pressed the button on his radio. “701, 202.”

“701,” said Kuroo after a moment.

“Can you come to Block 34? I have a suspect you might want to speak with.”

“Ten-four, on my way.”

Iwaizumi instructed the man to sit on the sidewalk again while they waited. He put the bag of drugs into his breast pocket for safekeeping and flipped through the man’s wallet. It was mostly empty. There was an ID, a couple of credit cards, and two thousand yen. 

Behind the rumpled bills Iwaizumi found a receipt, and his breath caught as he scanned it.

It was for three drinks. The time stamp indicated that they were purchased the night before at about eleven-thirty.

The place of business was Shiratorizawa.

When Kuroo pulled up, Iwaizumi handed him the receipt and the drugs without comment.

Kuroo studied them with a frown. “Shit.”

Iwaizumi just nodded.

Kuroo crouched down next to the man on the sidewalk. “I’m Detective Kuroo Tetsurou,” he said. “Listen for just a minute. I’m going to give you your rights.”

The man made a sound of assent and Kuroo recited the spiel that Iwaizumi knew by heart. 

When he’d finished, Kuroo said, “Where did you get those drugs?”

The man shrugged, the movement made awkward with his hands cuffed behind his back. “Bought them.”

“From who?”

He shrugged again. “Don’t know his name.”

“Okay,” said Kuroo slowly. “Then _where_ did you buy them?”

The man’s jaw worked for a moment, then he swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know or you’re not going to tell me?”

“Pick one.”

Kuroo tossed an annoyed look over his shoulder at Iwaizumi, then turned back to the man with a sigh. “Alright, how about this. Were you at Shiratorizawa last night?”

The man’s eyes cut sideways. “No.”

“Then why’s there a receipt in your wallet from the club from last night?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you get the drugs from Shiratorizawa?”

“No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kuroo rose from his crouch. He glowered down at the man, arms crossed. “You know you’re making this worse for yourself,” he said, voice edged with impatience. “If you tell me what I want to know I’ll make sure this goes easy for you.”

“Fuck that,” said the man, though there was no real venom behind it. “Take me to jail. Do what you have to do. I’m not ratting anybody out. I’d rather be in jail than dead.”

Kuroo and Iwaizumi exchanged a loaded look. Then Kuroo sighed and his shoulders slumped.

“Just book him,” he said. He bounced the bag of drugs in his palm, frowning down at it. “I’ll have Kai interrogate him again at the jail, but I doubt we’ll get anywhere. Criminals will snitch on each other all day long if it’s in their best interest, until they actually think there’s going to be some retaliation.”

“None of them have talked?” asked Iwaizumi. 

Kuroo shook his head. “Not a single damn one. They all say the same thing. Apparently somebody is scaring the shit out of them so they’ll keep their mouths shut. Must be a pretty scary dude.”

Iwaizumi couldn’t help but think of Ushijima’s stern, stoic expression. 

He raised a brow at Kuroo, who immediately knew what he was thinking.

“I don’t know,” Kuroo said. He tucked the bag into his pocket and looked over his shoulder at the damaged vehicle. “I need to get someone into that club. Not just in it, but _in it_. Maybe it has something to do with Ushijima, maybe not. But Shiratorizawa is definitely looking suspicious right now.”

It was suspicious, and that meant suspicion would fall on anyone affiliated with the Swan Club.

_Anyone._

Including, perhaps, Oikawa Tooru.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you missed Oikawa this chapter, don't worry. You'll be seeing _a lot_ more of him next time. 
> 
> *Wink.*


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember a time in my life when writing smut embarrassed me.
> 
> I've come so far. My mother would be so ashamed.

On Friday, Iwaizumi and Oikawa arranged to meet at Shiratorizawa and go to dinner from there. It had been Oikawa’s idea, since the club was a relative middle ground between their residences. Iwaizumi wasn’t keen on running into Ushijima again, but he wasn’t going to tell Oikawa that.

The Swan Club didn’t open for business until eight o’clock. It was a few minutes past seven when Iwaizumi arrived, strolling up to the front door like he belonged there. The street was abnormally quiet and it made him a little uncomfortable. He scanned the area as he walked, lingering on the mouths of nearby alleys and the cover provided by parked cars.

He knocked on the door and took a step back, half-turning to keep an eye on the street behind him. 

There had probably been a time in Iwaizumi’s life when he hadn’t been hyperaware of his surroundings and hadn’t expected to be jumped every time he went out in public. But that time was before he’d become an officer, and he couldn’t remember it.

The door was nudged open and an eye appeared in the crack. 

“Knock knock,” said a voice, muffled by the door.

Iwaizumi frowned. “I’m meeting Oikawa here.”

The eye slanted to the side as the man beyond tilted his head. “There’s no Oikawa here.”

Iwaizumi’s frown deepened. He remembered this man; he was the redheaded bouncer who’d slipped Oikawa the key to the back room. Oikawa had called him Tendou. “Just let me in,” said Iwaizumi flatly.

Tendou’s eye narrowed with a grin. Then it disappeared and the door swung inward, granting access.

“Welcome to the infamous Shiratorizawa,” announced Tendou loudly. He gestured Iwaizumi in with a bow and a mocking smile. “We’re so honored that you’ve graced us with your presence, kind sir.”

Iwaizumi didn’t even look at him. He moved past and entered the main room of the club, where the bar stretched along the back wall. That’s where Oikawa sat, leaning against the bar and talking to Shirabu, who listened with clear disinterest.

When Iwaizumi stepped in Shirabu glanced up, raising a brow as he neared.

“That’s surprising,” said Shirabu. “When Oikawa told me he had a date I figured it was just in his imagination.”

“Ken-chan!” said Oikawa, indignant. “Don’t be so rude!” He swiveled on his stool and turned on his smile. “Iwa-chan, it’s nice to see you all dressed up for me!”

Iwaizumi scowled. “You dressed up too, Shittykawa.”

“Well I wasn’t going to let you outshine me,” said Oikawa, flicking at his bangs. “Not that I should really be concerned about that, right?”

“Do you even hear yourself when you talk?” asked Shirabu.

“Shut up, Ken-chan, you know I’m charming.”

Shirabu snorted.

“Are you ready to go or what?” said Iwaizumi.

“Not until I get my roses,” said Oikawa, eyeing Iwaizumi up and down. “The instructions were simple, Iwa-chan. Do you want me to be unhappy?”

The door behind the bar squeaked open. Semi stepped through, one hand combing at his slightly rumpled hair. 

“Did you sleep in the alley out back, Semi-chan?” asked Oikawa brightly. “You look like you got thrown out with last night’s trash.”

Semi glared at him, a biting comment on his tongue. It shriveled away when he caught sight of Shirabu. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Working,” said Shirabu simply. “Ushijima-san wants me to learn how to open the club.”

Semi stared at him. Then he looked around the room, as if seeking Ushijima himself to confirm the statement. “I always open,” he said. “I’ve opened for the past three years.”

Shirabu shrugged. “I guess he wants someone else to know how. He said you ‘d teach me.”

Semi blinked at him. Then his brows knitted into a scowl. “Like hell I will,” he said. “You’re the closer. You come in at ten and stay until we shut down. That’s your job.”

Shirabu’s eyes sharpened. “Well now Ushijima-san wants me to open, too. What’s the big deal, Semi-san?”

“It’s _my job_. You’ve only been here for three months, Shirabu. Don’t get so full of yourself.”

“It’s only been three months,” agreed Shirabu, “and I can still do the job as well as you, Semi-san. Don’t talk down to me.”

Oikawa reached out to seize Iwaizumi’s sleeve. His eyes were wide, fixated on the argument. “I’ll put two thousand yen on Shirabu,” he hissed at Iwaizumi. “Semi’s bigger, but Shirabu looks like he’d fight dirty.”

Iwaizumi slapped his hand away. “Stop it. Let’s just go, this isn’t any of our business.”

“But Iwa-chan…”

“Come on.”

Iwaizumi turned away from the scene just as Semi offered Shirabu a few choice words about his attitude. Shirabu bit back something about Semi’s incompetency, his voice rising in volume.

Iwaizumi didn’t glance back until he reached the door, and that was only to confirm that Oikawa had followed. He was a few steps behind, still watching the show. Iwaizumi grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward. “Stop being so nosy.”

“As soon as you stop being so mean!” said Oikawa. “Ten-chan, you might want to check on your bartenders. I think they’re about to throw some punches.”

Iwaizumi expected Tendou to be delighted by the development. Instead his eyes widened in what was clearly concern and he rushed toward the bar.

“They might actually fight,” said Oikawa as they stepped outside. “This dinner better be good if you’re making me miss out on that. Where are we going, anyway?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

“Not fair! Please tell me, Iwa-chan?” He looked at Iwaizumi with wide eyes, blinking slowly in feigned innocence.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes at the act, but gave in all the same. “We’re going to Sapphire Grove.” He would never admit it, but he’d actually taken Kunimi’s recommendations into consideration when choosing the restaurant. Sapphire Grove was casually classy and well-known for a stunning selection of seafood. He hoped it would make a good impression without draining his bank account. “It’s close to here anyway. We can walk there in less than ten minutes. I’ve never been, but I’ve heard they have good… Why are you looking at me like that?”

Oikawa had stopped walking. He stared at Iwaizumi blankly, and without his typical animation, he looked like a statue. Then, slowly, his eyes sparked and a smirk curved the corner of his mouth. 

“No reason,” he said loftily. He skipped back up to Iwaizumi’s side and fell into step again, still grinning. 

Iwaizumi eyed him, suspicious. “If you don’t want to go there-”

“No, that’s fine!” said Oikawa, too cheerfully. “That’s perfect! It’s great! Let’s go, Iwa-chan, I’m starving!”

He was oddly chipper during the walk there, and when pressed, insisted that he was just eager to eat at one of the best restaurants in the city.

It was strange, and Iwaizumi wasn’t blind to the red flag, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

Almost exactly ten minutes later they arrived at Sapphire Grove. The windows glowed with a gentle light that reflected the hues of the name. Iwaizumi opened the door and gestured Oikawa inside.

“Such a gentleman, Iwa-chan,” said Oikawa with a smirk. 

Iwaizumi thought about slinging the door shut on his ass. 

They stood side-by-side at the host counter, which was currently vacant. A tank brimming with tropical fish stretched along the eastern wall. Tendrils of blue-green ivy draped along the edges, flowing down to brush at the floor with gentle leaves.

Iwaizumi appreciated the atmosphere. It was soothing, peaceful.

A man turned the corner and approached. “Good evening, gentleman. Do you have a reser-” The word was clipped into neat silence when the man saw Oikawa. He came to a clumsy halt, gripping the clipboard in his hands a little too tightly. “Umm. Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa’s smile was broad, and perhaps a little menacing. “It’s about time, Tadashi-chan, we’ve been waiting for ages!”

The man blanched.

“Knock it off, Oikawa,” said Iwaizumi, jamming an elbow into his side. “We’ve been standing here less than a minute.”

The host seemed to relax a little. It was strange to see someone be so easily intimidated by Oikawa, of all people.

“Why do you hate fun things, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa heaved a sigh and turned back to the host. “I want one of the private tables. And make sure Suga is our waiter.”

“Right, of course, Oikawa-san!” He grabbed a couple of menus from behind the counter, but Oikawa snatched them out of his hand before he could take a step toward the dining room.

“I think I can find it, Tadashi-chan,” said Oikawa with a smile. “Which ones are open?”

“Umm. Seventy-two and seventy-eight?”

“Lovely. Right this way, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi followed after him, a little belatedly. He was still trying to figure out what had just happened.

Oikawa led the way up a spiral staircase to a second-floor dining area. It was more secluded than the lower tables, each one separated by a low wall that awarded a measure of privacy. Oikawa dropped the menus on the farthest table, nestled in the corner of the room. They both sat, Iwaizumi still puzzled, Oikawa clearly amused.

“Do you work here?” Iwaizumi finally asked. It was the most reasonable explanation that he could come up with.

“Maybe,” said Oikawa coyly. “What do you think my job is, Iwa-chan? Do you think I’m a charming waiter or a five-star chef?”

“A dishwasher, probably.”

“You’re so mean!” said Oikawa. He aimed a kick at Iwaizumi under the table but missed. He sunk into a cross-armed pout.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “Fine. What’s your job?”

Oikawa perked up immediately. “I’m glad you asked. _This_ ,” said Oikawa, gesturing grandly to the elaborate décor around them, “is my restaurant!”

Iwaizumi looked toward the middle of the room, where a fountain bubbled serenely, crawling with ivy. Then he looked back to Oikawa. “There’s no way in hell.”

Oikawa stuck his bottom lip out. “Do you think so low of me, Iwa-chan?”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course. Well, kind of.” He shrugged. “I’ve managed the restaurant for five years. I don’t technically _own_ it. Although the person who does pretty much lets me do whatever I want with it.”

Iwaizumi watched him for another moment, trying to determine if he was still joking. “You’re serious,” he finally decided, scanning the interior of the restaurant again with a newfound appreciation. “I’m actually impressed.”

Oikawa smiled again, but it was more subdued. “I’m very impressive, Iwa-chan. You should’ve figured that out by now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” said Iwaizumi. “We could’ve gone somewhere else. You probably don’t want to eat at the same place you work.”

“I don’t mind,” Oikawa shrugged. “At least I know the kitchen here is sanitary. I watch my employees clean it.”

“I hope you don’t strain yourself.”

“Oh, never, Iwa-chan.”

Their waiter swooped in, sparing Iwaizumi from enduring Oikawa’s smug self-satisfaction for any longer.

“Oikawa-san, how unusual to see you on your day off,” said the waiter with a charming smile. His hair was so light that it was nearly silver, so bright that it reflected the light filtering from a low-hanging chandelier. “Hello to you as well, sir,” he said, addressing Iwaizumi. “I’m Suga. Please let me know if I can get you anything at all.”

“Get us some of that white wine that shipped in last week,” said Oikawa. “Just bring the bottle. We’ll split it.”

“I don’t drink wine,” said Iwaizumi. “Do you serve beer?”

Suga opened his mouth to respond, but Oikawa’s distress cut him off.

“You don’t drink _wine_?” he asked, offended. “What’s _wrong_ with you?”

“I don’t like it,” said Iwaizumi with a shrug. 

Suga flipped over one of the menus that had been discarded in the middle of the table. “This is the beer selection,” he said, sliding it in front of Iwaizumi. “I recommend the ones in this column. They’re seasonal favorites.”

“Iwa-chan,” hissed Oikawa. “You can’t order _beer_. It’s classless. What will people think?”

Iwaizumi’s stare was flat. “I don’t know.” He tilted his head up to look at Suga. “What do you think?”

“I think Oikawa-san is being dramatic,” said Suga with a small smile. “As usual.”

“You’re both so rude.”

Iwaizumi snorted a laugh. “Just surprise me,” he said to Suga. “Any of them is fine.” 

“Of course, sir. I’ll be right back.”

“I like him,” said Iwaizumi as soon as the waiter disappeared. “He has a good attitude.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “He’s a little shit,” he said, somewhat fondly. “He thinks just because he’s the best waiter I have that he can do whatever he wants without getting fired.”

“Can he?”

Oikawa sighed. “Yeah, probably. Guests love him.”

A few minutes later Suga returned with their drinks, and a while after that he delivered food. The two of them ate amid comfortable conversation, mostly discussing the meal and the restaurant and Oikawa’s job. The food was delicious, although Iwaizumi didn’t say that outright in fear of over-inflating Oikawa’s ego.

Despite his frequent whining, Oikawa wasn’t bad company. He would never have associated the man in front of him with the one he’d met on the dance floor, who was all sultry eyes and rolling hips and scalding skin. He would’ve never guessed that Oikawa also had a weird sense of humor, or that he separated his food on his plate so the different components wouldn’t touch, or that when he laughed, a _genuine_ laugh, that it lit up his entire face and made him _glow_.

It would’ve been easier if Iwaizumi had learned nothing beyond the man at the club who knew how to dance, because then he could’ve had a quick fuck and walked away.

Now he thought he might be starting to _like_ this idiot.

He was almost ashamed of himself.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Iwa-chan?” asked Oikawa, polishing off his dessert and licking the end of his spoon. “Is there something on my face?”

“Other than that obnoxious vanity, no. You’re good.”

Oikawa smiled and licked the spoon one more time. “You like it.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and looked away. 

Suga hadn’t delivered a bill, but Oikawa had assured him that they wouldn’t be receiving one. It was his restaurant, after all. He could eat for free anytime he wanted. Iwaizumi had been intending to pay, so he compromised by leaving Suga a very generous tip. Oikawa told him it was too much, but Iwaizumi easily ignored him.

The moment that they stepped out of the restaurant brought the first hint of awkwardness that Iwaizumi had felt all night. There was a swirl of uncertainty blurring between them, an unspoken question of what happened next.

Iwaizumi’s apartment was a fair distance away. If they took a cab it wouldn’t take long, but he didn’t want to invite Oikawa over unless he knew for sure that he would accept. There was no reason that he shouldn’t. After all, Oikawa had been the one to initiate physical intimacy in the back room of the club, and if they hadn’t been interrupted, Iwaizumi knew exactly how it would have ended. 

That had been about a week ago. It was possible that Oikawa had changed his mind since then, since he’d gotten to know Iwaizumi better. It was possible that Oikawa had gained so much attention from other men at the club that he didn’t need any from Iwaizumi. It was also possible that Oikawa had just been playing a game to see if he could win over Iwaizumi, and now that he’d succeeded, he would move on.

It only took Iwaizumi a split second to create all of these dreadful scenarios. In that time, Oikawa crept closer and looped his arm through Iwaizumi’s.

“My place isn’t far,” said Oikawa, his voice low. “You should come over.”

Iwaizumi felt Oikawa’s warmth through his sleeve, felt the heat of his breath on his jaw. 

“Sure,” said Iwaizumi. “If that’s what you want.”

Oikawa’s lips curled into that signature smirk. “It is absolutely what I want.”

Iwaizumi felt his skin flush hot from the look Oikawa gave him. Then they were walking, Oikawa’s arm still linked with his. The sounds of the city were omnipresent, but a silence born of tense anticipation bloomed between them. Iwaizumi was hyperaware of Oikawa at his side, of the way their arms nestled together as they walked, of the side glances that he caught every few seconds.

Oikawa lived in a tenth-floor apartment with large rooms and high ceilings. It was much nicer than his own place, and Iwaizumi was glad he hadn’t invited Oikawa to his apartment instead.

“Do you live here alone?” asked Iwaizumi as he kicked off his shoes at the door, studying the inside of the room in awe.

“Yes, why? Are you looking for a third participant?”

Iwaizumi didn’t reward him with a response. “This is a nice place.”

“How about you spend less time looking at my apartment,” said Oikawa. He gripped Iwaizumi’s chin and tilted his face back toward him. “And more time looking at me.”

Iwaizumi tried to smack Oikawa’s hand but he’d already pulled back.

“The bedroom is this way,” said Oikawa bluntly, padding across the living room on socked feet. He hesitated just outside an open doorway and said, “You should come have a look at it, Iwa-chan.” He tossed a promising smirk over his shoulder and stepped out of sight.

Iwaizumi followed without hesitation, suddenly less interested in the apartment’s architecture.

When he stepped into the bedroom Oikawa was slipping out of his jacket. He draped it across the back of a chair and smoothed a hand over the material.

“You can lay your clothes over here so they don’t get wrinkled,” he said. “Just throwing them in the floor is kind of-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish that thought. Iwaizumi was already across the room, spinning him with a firm grip on his shoulder, pressing their lips together and stealing the unspoken words directly from Oikawa’s mouth.

Oikawa hummed a word against Iwaizumi’s lips that sounded like _finally_. Then he pushed Iwaizumi’s jacket off of his shoulders and let it crumple to the floor, no longer concerned about wrinkles. 

Iwaizumi didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He kissed Oikawa like he meant it, biting his lip and licking into his mouth and sucking on his tongue. Oikawa moaned beneath the attention.

Iwaizumi coaxed Oikawa backward, walking them to the edge of the bed. A well-placed shove sent Oikawa sprawling, bouncing once on the mattress before Iwaizumi was again on him, his body flush against Oikawa’s, the heat between them easily soaking through their clothes.

Iwaizumi gripped Oikawa’s jaw and forced his head to the side, descending on the exposed column of his throat. Oikawa’s back arched as Iwaizumi’s teeth scraped his skin, his hips rubbing up against Iwaizumi’s. 

Iwaizumi clawed at the buttons of Oikawa’s shirt with one hand until Oikawa took the hint and started undressing himself. Iwaizumi sat up to give him space, taking the opportunity to unbutton and discard his own shirt. Oikawa’s eyes were on him as he did so, raking over his exposed chest with scorching interest. 

“Pants off, Iwa-chan,” he said as he shrugged off his own shirt and tossed it into the floor alongside Iwaizumi’s. He wriggled away and stretched across the bed to dip into the nightstand drawer. When he’d withdrawn the necessities, Iwaizumi seized his ankle and dragged him back. Oikawa laughed as he slid across the sheets.

“Iwa-chan, you’re so eager,” he said, even as he dropped his eyes to linger on Iwaizumi’s lower body. “Do you think I’m sexy?”

“I think,” said Iwaizumi, as he unzipped Oikawa’s pants, “you talk too much.”

“Are you going to do something about it?” taunted Oikawa as his pants were yanked off in one swift pull. 

Iwaizumi met his gaze, and his eyes were smoldering.

“Yeah,” he said, voice an octave lower than usual as he hooked his fingers into the edge of Oikawa’s underwear. “Yeah, I am.”

Oikawa shuddered as he was exposed to the air and to Iwaizumi’s appraising eyes. Then Iwaizumi bodily flipped him over and plucked the lube out of his hand. 

Oikawa’s hands tightened in the sheets. He looked over his shoulder at Iwaizumi, who rubbed lube between his fingers. 

“You ready?” asked Iwaizumi, voice husky.

Oikawa pressed the side of his face into the sheets and nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a lingering pause during which Oikawa refused to look over his shoulder again. Iwaizumi took a second to appreciate the lean lines of the man laid out beneath him. Then he glided a finger against Oikawa, circling, prodding at his entrance. Oikawa bit his lip and closed his eyes, clearly trying to relax. 

The only sound in the room was Oikawa’s harsh breathing as a finger worked its way inside, pressing against resistance. Iwaizumi moved it around, stretching against his walls, trying to make room for more. 

Then a hand slipped beneath Oikawa and squeezed his cock. He bit down on a groan and looked back. Iwaizumi watched him closely, mouth turned down on one side. “Relax,” he said. He pressed his palm against the underside of Oikawa’s cock, rubbing lightly. “You’re too tense.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes but gradually started to unwind, soothed by the slide of Iwaizumi’s hand even as another finger slipped inside him. 

Oikawa hummed into the sheets, pushing back against Iwaizumi’s fingers as they started scissoring. 

“That’s better,” said Iwaizumi. He dropped a kiss onto Oikawa’s lower back before suddenly wedging in a third finger.

Oikawa yelped at the sudden stretch and tried to struggle away, but Iwaizumi grabbed his hip and held him there. Iwaizumi grinned at his expense even as Oikawa said, “Rude, Iwa-chan.”

“Oh, sorry,” said Iwaizumi. He didn’t even try to make the apology sound genuine. “Do you want me to stop?”

Oikawa huffed. “I guess not. As long as you’ll be nicer to me.”

“Don’t worry,” said Iwaizumi. He pressed his fingers in more deeply and curled them in a way that made Oikawa arch off the bed with a choked moan. “I’ll be very nice to you.”

Iwaizumi thrust his fingers in and out, striking at just the right angle to make Oikawa violently twitch beneath him. When he pulled his fingers out a few minutes later Oikawa was sprawled bonelessly on the bed, pupils blown, sucking air in through his teeth.

Iwaizumi rolled him over and descended on his cock, sucking the head into his mouth for only a moment before releasing it with a _pop_.

“Well, look at that,” said Iwaizumi. He sat up on his knees and reached for the condom that Oikawa had discarded toward the edge of the bed. He slipped out of his boxers and rolled the condom on, stroking himself a few times with his lube-slick hand. “I guess there is a way to shut you up.”

Oikawa looked up at him, but there was no childish offense at the comment. His tongue poked out and swiped along his lower lip. “Now _you_ should shut up,” he said, the words raspy, “and fuck me, Iwa-chan.”

A rush of heat hit Iwaizumi’s already-hard dick. “I planned on it.”

He crawled over Oikawa, keeping himself elevated by planting a hand beside Oikawa’s ribs. With the other he gripped Oikawa’s hip as he aligned himself, brushing against his stretched entrance.

He stayed still long enough to make Oikawa squirm beneath him. “What are you waiting for?”

“Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

“I already said that.”

“Say it again.”

Oikawa huffed a breath. “Fuck me, Iwa-chan.”

“Say please.”

Oikawa’s eyes narrowed into a hazy glare. “You’re the worst, Iwa-chan, the absolute wor- oh, fuck, _fuck_!”

He threw his head back as Iwaizumi plunged into him, stretching him in a way that his fingers couldn’t. Profanity tumbled from Oikawa’s lips, punctuated by little moans as Iwaizumi rotated his hips, grinding deeper inside him. 

Oikawa released his white-knuckled grip on the sheets and seized Iwaizumi instead, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails cutting into his skin.

Iwaizumi gritted his teeth against the pinpricks of pain but didn’t complain. 

Oikawa hooked his ankles in the dip of Iwaizumi’s lower back and used his legs to pull him in closer. “Iwa-chan,” he said, the words breathy. “Fuck me, Iwa-chan, _fuck me_.”

Iwaizumi obeyed immediately.

He pulled out, quickly, and then pistoned his hips forward, making both of them groan beneath the sharp, sudden sensation. He thrust again, hitting a rhythm, making the bed shake beneath them.

He fucked into Oikawa with force and purpose, sweat beading on his forehead and the back of his neck, burning under the heat like he was on the surface of the sun. 

Oikawa held on as if Iwaizumi was the only thing tethering him to life. His nails dug into broad shoulders more deeply, sliding against sweat-slick skin. His hair was stuck to his face, but he couldn’t make himself care. He couldn’t care about anything other than the flash of sensation that rammed into him over and over, and the solid body on top of him, and the way Iwaizumi looked at him with insatiable hunger smoldering like embers in his eyes. 

It was quick and messy and utterly satisfying. 

Oikawa came first, mere moments after Iwaizumi freed up a hand to stroke his cock. He spewed cum all over his own chest, panting harshly in the aftermath as Iwaizumi kept rocking into him. 

“Iwa-chan,” said Oikawa. “Fuck, Iwa-chan, _fuck_.”

He spread his hands into Iwaizumi’s hair and pulled, forcing his head back. Iwaizumi growled through his teeth, gave a few more erratic thrusts, and then came with a muffled moan. 

Iwaizumi pulled out and slumped beside Oikawa, struggling to catch his breath. 

Oikawa turned his head to the side to view Iwaizumi. His bronze skin shone with sweat. The permanent furrow between his brows had been wiped away, his features more relaxed than Oikawa had seen them. Iwaizumi’s lashes were dark, nearly long enough to brush his cheeks as he lay there panting, lips parted just enough for Oikawa to catch a flash of teeth.

He continued his observation, following the line of Iwaizumi’s throat to his broad shoulders and thick biceps and defined chest. His stomach was ridged, and Oikawa clenched his fingers into a fist to keep from reaching out to touch it. 

When he dragged his eyes back to Iwaizumi’s face he was watching him, the furrow reappearing in the middle of his forehead.

“What?”

“Nothing,” said Oikawa, forcing a smile. “Nothing at all, Iwa-chan. I was just thinking about how sweaty you are.”

Iwaizumi scowled at him, then peeled himself off of the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” Iwaizumi grumbled. He headed toward the doorway on the left wall and was grateful to find that it was indeed a bathroom. He slipped off the condom and tied it off before dropping it into the trash. He dampened a washcloth and stepped back into the bedroom long enough to fling it at Oikawa, who sputtered a protest as it smacked him in the face.

Iwaizumi stepped back in front of the sink and splashed himself with cold water. Then he turned and craned his neck to inspect his back in the mirror. 

Four furrows were etched over each of his shoulder blades, courtesy of Oikawa Tooru. They were bright red and they burned like hell.

Iwaizumi tried to be mad but he just couldn’t.

The sex had been good. They hadn’t wasted time with teasing or foreplay or anything unessential to the task at hand. It had been sex sparked by desperation, by days of unresolved tension. They’d both gotten what they needed, but Iwaizumi couldn’t help but think what he’d like to do next time, when they hadn’t worked themselves into such a desperate frenzy. Next time, when he could suck Oikawa’s dick until he was a breath away from an orgasm, begging for release. Next time, when he could lick Oikawa’s neck and bite his collarbone and figure out all the spots that made him squirm. Next time, when he could take the time to properly appreciate the beauty of Oikawa’s body instead of only fucking him. 

That was all assuming there would be a next time. He stopped himself there, refusing to create any expectations.

Iwaizumi had rarely ever had sex with the same person twice. His sexual history was a spatter of covert one-night stands, during which the sharing of names was optional. It was selfish of him to expect anything more from Oikawa. 

It was selfish of him to think, after all those times in the past, he actually deserved anything more. 

He liked Oikawa. That in itself was stupid, considering that Oikawa was probably the most annoying person he’d ever met. But he was also charming, in his own way. Iwaizumi didn’t hate spending time with him. He’d been looking forward to the date for the past week, and not just because he’d suspected there would be some sexual gratification as a finale. 

A next time would be nice, but he shouldn’t expect anything.

When he went back into the bedroom Oikawa had wiped himself off and curled beneath the covers. He peeked through heavy eyelids as Iwaizumi searched for his underwear in the pile of discarded clothes. 

When he found them he pulled them on quickly and stopped to stare at the rest of his clothing, wondering what he was supposed to do now.

This was the awkward part of the script, the lines that he’d never properly learned. He’d never experienced uncomfortable morning-afters because he’d never had a morning-after. He always made up an excuse not to stay, or a reason that whoever he’d invited back to his hotel room had to leave. He’d never woken up to someone before. He didn’t know how to do this, or if Oikawa even wanted to do this. It was probably safer to just put his clothes back on and go. That was what he was used to. That was the easiest way.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa sat up. He rubbed sleepily at one of his eyes and watched Iwaizumi with the other. “What are you doing?”

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure what to say. 

He didn’t have to think about it for too long. His phone started ringing from somewhere on the other side of the bed. 

He stumbled over himself as he tried to find his pants and dug his phone out of the pocket. It was his work phone, and the name that lit up the screen made his heart sink.

He took the call and answered with a gruff, “Iwaizumi.”

“It’s me.” Kuroo sounded exhausted. “You busy?”

Iwaizumi glanced up at Oikawa, who still watched him.

“What do you need?”

“We’ve got another ten sixty-two,” said Kuroo, “and guess which club he was at two hours ago.”

Ten sixty-two.

_Corpse_.

“Who’s on shift right now?”

“Bokuto. He’s busy with a burglary in zone one, and he doesn’t know much about this case, anyway,” explained Kuroo. “It’s a lot like the sixty-two you had a few weeks ago. Could you come have a look around before we release the body to the coroner? I want to see if you notice anything we’re missing.”

He looked up again. Oikawa was leaning forward slightly, as if curious to know what they were talking about. The sheets pooled at his waist, exposing the bare chest that Iwaizumi hadn’t gotten a chance to mark. His hair was a wreck and his eyes were drooping with sleep and he was absolutely the most attractive man that Iwaizumi had fucked.

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” he said, looking away from Oikawa before he could see his reaction. He didn’t know if he was more afraid of seeing disappointment or relief. “Text me your twenty.” 

“Ten-four, sarge. See you soon.”

Iwaizumi ended the call and sighed. “They found another body,” he said flatly as he stepped back into his pants. “I have to go meet up with the captain.”

“Another?” repeated Oikawa. “So… I guess the girl from that night… she didn’t make it?”

“No. She was pronounced dead at the hospital.”

Oikawa was quiet. Iwaizumi was afraid to look at him. Instead he retrieved his shirt from the floor and tried to match up his buttons as quickly as possible. 

“Does it have something to do with that drug?” asked Oikawa, the low question making Iwaizumi’s fingers fumble. “The one you found on that lady in the street?”

“I can’t say.”

Oikawa made a humming sound. “You know,” he said, “Ushiwaka said you and your detective friend stopped by to talk to him.”

Iwaizumi had been reaching for his coat. The collar slipped through his fingers as he stood upright, eyes on Oikawa, who suddenly appeared significantly less tired. “What did he say?”

Oikawa shrugged. “He said you were asking a lot of questions. About drugs and about the guys who work for him. He said he thought maybe you suspected him of something. Do you, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi realized how stiff he’d become at the mention of Ushijima. He composed himself and reached for his jacket again, this time lifting it from the floor and shaking out the wrinkles. “I can’t discuss an open case with you, Oikawa.”

Oikawa crawled across the bed and settled near the edge, an arm’s length away. “Ushiwaka is an ass,” he said, “but he’s not involved in that kind of stuff. He has that black and white morality thing going on. I don’t think he’s ever even smoked a cigarette.”

Iwaizumi tried not to think too hard on the familiarity with which Oikawa spoke of Ushijima. When they’d been interrupted in the private room at the club, he’d wondered if he’d been interfering with some sort of fractured relationship between the two.

The more Oikawa talked, the more he felt that might actually be the case.

Ushijima didn’t seem like someone Iwaizumi wanted to make an enemy of.

“I can’t discuss the case.”

“I know,” said Oikawa. “Just saying.”

“I have to go.” Iwaizumi finished tucking in his shirt, aware that he didn’t exactly look presentable. He didn’t have his gun with him, either, but since he was just going to have a look around it should be fine. 

“Iwa-chan, wait.” Oikawa leaned out of bed and grabbed Iwaizumi’s wrist, tugging him a step closer. He peered up at him with wide eyes, all traces of weariness gone. He started to speak, then closed his mouth and reevaluated. “So… Will I see you soon?”

There were so many ways that Iwaizumi could overthink that statement that he decided not to even consider it right now. “Sure, Oikawa. I’ll see you soon.”

Oikawa smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He released Iwaizumi, who left the room and the apartment without another word.


	6. Chapter 6

Kuroo sent Iwaizumi the address of the crime scene, and he had no difficulty finding it. When he was two blocks away the flash of blue lights alerted him to the exact location. An ambulance and a pair of police cars were parked outside of an apartment building. Iwaizumi recognized Washio and Sarukui from Shift 3. They nodded as he passed by, allowing him into the perimeter without question.

Iwaizumi climbed the steps to the apartment number that Kuroo had given him. It was on the third floor, the second room on the left. The door was standing open and Kuroo’s back was the first thing he saw when he stepped inside.

“Kuroo.”

He turned. “Oh, Iwaizumi. Thanks for coming over so quickly.” He paused, eyeing Iwaizumi up and down. His grave expression gave way for a smirk. “Sorry, I didn’t know I was interrupting. Who’s the lucky girl?”

Iwaizumi blinked at him, confused. “Huh?”

Kuroo pointed to his own head. “Sex hair. It’s too obvious.”

Iwaizumi tried, in vain, to flatten down the hair that Oikawa must have pulled out of place. He didn’t appreciate such criticism from someone whose hair always looked like they’d just rolled out of bed. “What do we have?”

Kuroo snapped back into business mode. “Twenty-one-year-old male. A couple of possession charges on his record and a history of drug abuse, according to his girlfriend, who was with him when he passed out. She’s the one who told us they were at the club earlier. I had someone drive her to the station. I’m going to go question her when we wrap it up here. I think I can pry some information out of her while she’s upset.”

“You’re going to grill her an hour after she watched her boyfriend die?”

Kuroo’s face hardened. “People are dying here, sergeant. I’m going to do whatever I need to do.”

Iwaizumi still didn’t agree with his approach, but he wasn’t going to argue. He was outranked. “So it was an OD?”

“As far as we can tell. We’ll know for sure after the autopsy.” 

Kuroo waved him further into the apartment. The body was in the bed against the far wall, on its back, the blank face staring up at the ceiling. One of Kuroo’s investigators was snapping pictures. Iwaizumi waited until he stepped to the side before he approached.

“Inuoka-san,” said Iwaizumi, acknowledging the photographer.

“Hello, Iwaizumi-san. Oh, uh, I mean sergeant.”

Iwaizumi waved off the correction as he stepped nearer to the body. The corpse’s eyes were glazed over, dead pupils enlarged. His lips were blue.

“How much did he have on him?” said Iwaizumi.

“Not much,” said Kuroo, the voice surprisingly close. “Just dust, mostly. The two of them used it all. The girl was high as a fucking kite, but she’s not experiencing any adverse side effects. Once it wears off she’ll be fine. We can’t be sure why he reacted badly.”

“Probably the same reason the last victim did,” said Iwaizumi. “Did you ever get her bloodwork back?”

“Yeah, we got it a couple days ago. She was on at least three different drugs along with the new one.”

“You’ll have to compare it with him,” said Iwaizumi, frowning down at the corpse. “They must have something in common. Something other than the new drug.”

“See anything notable? Anything like the other one?”

“Just the eyes and the lips,” said Iwaizumi, “but that’s no different from a typical OD. There’s nothing special about it.”

Kuroo nodded. “Inuoka, are you done here?”

“Yes, captain. I’ll need more pictures after they move the body but until then I’m good.”

“Great. I’m going to leave the Shift 3 boys in charge of the scene and get back to the station to talk to the witness.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Iwaizumi. He turned away from the body, relieved that he didn’t have to look anymore.

Kuroo raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? I think there’s probably a lonely lady waiting for you.”

Iwaizumi felt his cheeks burn but he tried to ignore it. “I’m sure. I want to see what the girl has to say.”

Kuroo shrugged. “Whatever you say, sarge. Let’s get going, then. I’m parked out back.”

  
  
  
  
When Kuroo had said the girl was “high as a fucking kite”, he had not been exaggerating.

She cycled between extremes. One minute she was nodding off, the next she was crying hysterically, and the next she was blabbering to Kuroo so quickly that Iwaizumi struggled to keep up with the slurred syllables.

Iwaizumi watched from behind the one-way glass, arms folded as he listened to Kuroo’s interrogation.

“I know you’re very upset, I understand,” said Kuroo in what was supposed to be a soothing voice. Iwaizumi figured the girl was too far gone to recognize the edge of irritation hidden in the forced concern. “Please try to stay with me here. I’m trying to figure out what happened so I can help. So you went to Shiratorizawa, right? The Swan Club?”

The girl just nodded, choking on a sob.

“What did you do while you were there?”

The girl stared somewhere to Kuroo’s left, eerily close to where Iwaizumi was standing. She was silent so long that he thought she wouldn’t answer.

Apparently Kuroo thought the same. He snapped his fingers in front of the girl’s face and repeated the question.

She blinked a few times, too slowly. “We had some drinks,” she said, dragging out the S. “I like margaritas but Toshi, he-he…” her face scrunched up and the tears started again. 

Kuroo closed his eyes for a moment. Iwaizumi suspected he was trying to collect himself so he wouldn’t snap the girl’s neck.

“He’s usually better than this.” Detective Kozume tilted his head at the scene beyond. “He’s getting impatient because it’s such a big case. If he doesn’t get himself together he’s going to start making mistakes.”

Iwaizumi glanced down at the detective before returning his attention to Kuroo, who was rephrasing his questions in simpler terms.

“He’s desperate for information,” said Iwaizumi. “We don’t have any real leads about this drug. It just popped up out of nowhere.”

“We found some drugs in your apartment,” said Kuroo slowly. “I need to know about one of them, the powdery kind. You’re not going to get in trouble for having it, okay? I just need to know where it came from.”

“T-t-toshi got it.”

“Okay. Where’d he get it?”

Iwaizumi wasn’t expecting a real answer, so he was surprised by what the girl said next.

“He bought it.”

Iwaizumi found himself pressing closer to the glass. Beyond it Kuroo had the same reaction, leaning across the table. 

“Who’d he buy it from?” asked Kuroo calmly. “Do you know?”

The girl hiccupped another sob. “Somebody there.”

Kuroo went so still that it seemed he’d stopped breathing. “Somebody where?”

“At… at the place.”

“The place?” repeated Kuroo. “Are you talking about the club? At Shiratorizawa?”

The girl nodded, eyes closed against her tears.

Kuroo threw a glance to the side, where Iwaizumi and Kenma stood out of sight.

“He bought the drugs at Shiratorizawa. Is that what you’re saying?”

The girl pressed her hands over her face and started sobbing in earnest.

“Hey!” snapped Kuroo, too loudly. The girl flinched back and started crying more loudly. “Tell me about the club. Who did he buy it from? _Who_?”

“He just blew it,” muttered Kenma, as the girls shoulders began to quake beneath the weight of her tears. 

Iwaizumi watched for the next half hour as Kuroo tried unsuccessfully to pry more information out of the girl. He finally gave up when she slouched over on the table and promptly fell asleep.

When Kuroo exited the interrogation room into the hallway, he slammed the door a little too loudly.

The girl was passed out so deeply that she didn’t even flinch.

“I’ll try again when she sobers up,” he said, frustration clear in the tense line of his shoulders. “She knows more than that. I’ll make her tell me.”

“I doubt that,” said Kenma flatly. He didn’t balk beneath the heat of Kuroo’s glare. “How much of the last few hours do you really think she’s going to remember in the morning?” 

Kuroo turned his scowl on Iwaizumi. “She said the drugs came from Shiratorizawa. Someone is selling out of that club. I knew it. We have to go back and talk to Ushijima again.”

Iwaizumi didn’t fail to notice the “we” in that statement.

“I don’t know if it’ll do any good,” he said, trying to diffuse the idea as gently as possible. “Ushijima isn’t going to tell us anything else. I’m not so sure he’s involved anyway. He doesn’t seem like the type.”

Kuroo’s scowl didn’t waver. “We’ll talk to his employees, then. He’ll have to let us now. Even if he doesn’t, I can call them in for questioning here at the station. This is out of hand. We have to stop it before this happens again. Are you with me or not?”

Iwaizumi didn’t understand why, out of all the businesses in Tokyo, everything kept leading back to Shiratorizawa. It was as if the universe wanted him to suffer. 

He did not want to accompany Kuroo to the Swan Club to question the employees, several of which knew at least vaguely of his relationship with Oikawa. 

He did not want to put himself in a situation where such knowledge could come to light. Yaku had reacted infinitely better than Iwaizumi had expected, but he was not willing to take that chance with Kuroo. The captain had always been a lady’s man. Women fell all over him, drawn in by the badge and the hair and the cocky attitude. Iwaizumi didn’t expect Kuroo to understand anything about his relationship with Oikawa. In fact, he expected something akin to ridicule if it was discovered.

He did not want to go to Shiratorizawa.

But the way Kuroo was looking at him, with sharp, commanding expectation, left him little choice.

“Of course I’m with you. Just tell me what to do.”

  
  
  
  
Kuroo didn’t waste any time. The following night found the two of them at the Swan Club, dressed in civilian clothing to preserve their anonymity. The employees they would be speaking with would obviously know they were officers, but they didn’t want to present a police presence to the public. It would lessen the likelihood of finding information.

They went at eight o’clock. The club was semi-crowded, despite the early hour. Iwaizumi supposed it was because it was Saturday.

He couldn’t help obsessively scanning the room as soon as they stepped inside, seeking a flash of copper hair or dark, gemstone eyes. There was no evidence of Oikawa, but he still couldn’t seem to relax. He could be anywhere, or show up at anytime. And as much as Iwaizumi would like to see him, especially considering he hadn’t heard a word from him since their date the night before, it could be a disaster in his current situation.

From the way Tendou looked at him when he and Kuroo entered the club together, he thought maybe the disaster was inevitable, anyway.

They spoke with Ushijima in his second-floor office for a short time. Kuroo asked similar questions as last time, peppering the interview with more specific questions that he based on newly collected information. Ushijima still stated he knew nothing, had observed nothing suspicious, and that his employees most certainly had nothing to do with anything illicit. 

He did, however, give Kuroo permission to speak with them, but insisted the questions must be brief. He had a business to run, and having his employees occupied with a criminal case that they knew nothing about wasn’t conducive to that business. Kuroo agreed, and they were given access to a private room at the back of the club in which to speak with the Shiratorizawa employees.

Iwaizumi knew even before Ushijima took them to the room that it would be the same one that he and Oikawa had occupied the week before. Sure enough, Ushijima unlocked the door to the familiar private room, and Iwaizumi couldn’t help but stare at the couch on which he’d almost fucked Oikawa.

“Do you have a preference as to whom you would like to speak with first?” asked Ushijima.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Kuroo. He retrieved a folded chair from the corner and arranged it to face the couch. 

Ushijima paused for a moment, then said, “I’ll send Tendou.”

Iwaizumi felt a pull of anxiety. If anyone was going to mention his fling with Oikawa, it would probably be Tendou. 

“We’ll have them sit in the chair,” said Kuroo, sitting on one end of the couch. “The more uncomfortable they are, the better.”

Iwaizumi hovered by the doorway, trying to scrape together an excuse to get out of this. He wasn’t completely sure how he’d gotten roped into it, anyway. It seemed that it all circled back to the woman who’d overdosed a couple of weeks before, the one that Oikawa had called in. If he hadn’t been the one on shift that day, he probably wouldn’t be here with Kuroo right now.

If he hadn’t been the one on shift that day, he probably would have never seen Oikawa again.

“Come sit,” said Kuroo, patting the couch cushion beside him. 

Iwaizumi took a breath and did as asked. He sank onto the opposite end, trying not to think about having Oikawa pinned beneath him on the same piece of furniture.

He thought about it anyway.

“I already know what I’m going to ask,” said Kuroo, “but if you have anything to add, feel free to jump in.”

“Sure,” said Iwaizumi, though he knew he likely wasn’t going to speak during the entire interview. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

Tendou arrived a moment later, ambling into the room like he was strolling through a park. He sat in the fold-out chair, and when Kuroo introduced them, Tendou gave Iwaizumi a wide, razor-sharp smile.

“Nice to _meet_ you, Sergeant Iwaizumi,” he said, tilting his head to one side. “You look a lot like someone I know.”

Iwaizumi felt his face burn, but Kuroo jumped into his questions without further ado and the weight of Tendou’s attention was alleviated.

Tendou answered Kuroo’s questions fairly well, though Iwaizumi could sense the captain’s frustration. It was difficult to get a read on Tendou, even when his answers were a simple “yes” or “no”. He bounced back and forth between mock seriousness and face-stretching smiles, his gaze occasionally straying back to Iwaizumi to tip him a wink.

“So you haven’t noticed anything suspicious,” Kuroo reiterated. “None of your frequent customers have raised any red flags with you.”

“No red flags,” Tendou agreed solemnly. “Or blue flags or green flags or-”

“What about your coworkers?” asked Kuroo, cutting him off. “Has anyone been acting strangely lately? Disappearing during their shifts or coming in late? Has anyone’s behavior changed?”

Tendou rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling and pretended to think. “Kawanishi has been happier than usual,” he mused, “but I think that’s because he’s finally getting laid.” His gaze descended to fix on Iwaizumi knowingly. “Getting laid makes everyone happy, right, sergeant?”

Iwaizumi clenched his jaw and didn’t respond.

“I know Ushijima-san doesn’t do drug screens on his employees,” said Iwaizumi, “but if you were given one, would you pass?”

For the first time Tendou looked surprised by the question. “Me?” he said, pressing a hand against his chest. “You think _I_ would stoop so low as to use mind-rotting substances? I am a pure, innocent soul, detective. I would never soil my body with such filth.” His hand dropped away, as did his act. “I mean, I smoke some weed occasionally, sure, but who doesn’t? Don’t tell Ushijima. He would flip his shit. He thinks he’s the shepherd and we are all his pure, perfect sheep. Don’t ruin that for him.”

Kuroo sighed, and it mirrored Iwaizumi’s own exasperation.

“Okay, Tendou,” said Kuroo. “I think that’s all we need. Thanks for your time. Could you send one of your coworkers back, please?”

“Gladly.” He hopped out of his seat and skipped to the door. “Bye, Detective. Bye, Sergeant.” He smirked at Iwaizumi over his shoulder. “See ya soon.”

Iwaizumi internally flinched, but Kuroo didn’t seem to notice.

“He’s a weird guy,” said Kuroo. He reached for his notepad and scribbled down a few details about the interview. As a rule, Kuroo never took notes while he was speaking with someone. He’d told Iwaizumi before that if he looked away, even for a minute, he might miss something telling about their expression. He always waited until afterwards for the sake of thoroughness. “What do you think about him?”

“Definitely weird,” agreed Iwaizumi. “He didn’t seem suspicious, though. Unless his personality is just a good cover, I don’t think he’s involved.”

Kuroo hummed. “We’ll see what the others have to say.”

Their next interview was with another bouncer, Kawanishi. He was much more normal than Tendou and answered all of Kuroo’s questions easily. After him was Reon, who was equally unsuspicious, and Yamagata, who was just a little defensive. 

Iwaizumi had never met any of them, so he should have been relaxed. Instead, he got progressively more anxious as they continued, aware that the bartenders would be interviewed soon.

Sure enough, after Yamagata was dismissed, Shirabu was the next to enter the room. He looked at Iwaizumi for a little too long, but didn’t react when Kuroo introduced them. 

His face remained neutral during the questioning; he looked almost bored. 

“As a bartender you deal with a lot of people,” said Kuroo. “You probably have a better insight to the clientele than anyone. Have you noticed anyone suspicious hanging around? Anyone out of the ordinary?”

The others had considered the question for a moment and then shrugged it off with a distinct negative.

Shirabu’s pause lasted longer, eyebrows twitching together in thought.

“Well,” he said slowly. Kuroo leaned forward slightly. “There’s these two guys who’ve started coming around in the past couple weeks. I’ve never seen them before, and they act a little… I don’t know. Weird. Like they’re watching everyone.”

Kuroo’s hand twitched toward his notepad but he restrained himself, gaze intent on Shirabu. “Can you give us any details about them?”

Shirabu chewed on his bottom lip as he tried to remember. “One is kind of short. Medium colored hair. He always looks really serious, which is weird, because he can throw back some whiskey. You’d think it would loosen him up a little but it doesn’t. The other one is really tall and he smiles a lot. His hair is gray or silver maybe, it’s hard to tell because we keep the lights low. He doesn’t drink much alcohol. He orders juice a lot.”

Kuroo and Iwaizumi shared a flat look.

Shirabu had just described Yaku and Lev.

What Kuroo said was, “We’ll look into it.”

What he meant was, “I’m going to have to pull those idiots off of the case.”

“What about your coworkers?” said Kuroo, switching gears. “Have you noticed anything suspicious with them? Any changes in behavior?”

Shirabu visibly hesitated before he said, “No, nothing.”

Kuroo raised a brow at him. “Are you sure about that?”

Shirabu looked from him to Iwaizumi, then looked down at the floor. “Yeah, I’m sure. Everyone is fine.”

Iwaizumi felt Kuroo looking at him, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Shirabu. He wanted to just let this go and let Kuroo handle it. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, and he certainly didn’t want to provoke someone who knew about Oikawa.

But he’d agreed to work this case, so he couldn’t just ignore this.

“You know,” said Iwaizumi quietly, “you’re not obligated to protect anyone just because you work with them. All of this is confidential, you know. If you say anything to us no one is going to find out.”

Shirabu glanced up at him.

“Have you been having trouble with anyone?” asked Iwaizumi, the question pointed. “Any arguments or disagreements?”

Shirabu gave him a rueful smile. “That’s oddly specific, sergeant.”

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to try and cover his tracks, but Shirabu kept talking.

“Semi and I haven’t been getting along,” he admitted. He clasped his hands together in his lap. “It’s not surprising, though. I mean, he’s been Ushijima’s right-hand man for years. Now the boss wants me to take on more responsibilities and Semi doesn’t like it. I understand why he’s upset. I don’t think it has anything to do with this, though.”

Kuroo asked a few more questions, most of them concerning Semi’s recent behavior. Then, when he’d exhausted that line of questioning, he concluded the interview with the same question he’d asked Tendou. 

“Of course I could pass a drug screen,” said Shirabu, as if it was common knowledge. “I’ll take one if you’d like. I don’t mind at all.”

Kuroo waved off the offer. “No, that’s alright. We just have to ask. I think that’s all we have for you, Shirabu-san. Thank you for your time. Could you send Semi back next, please?”

A flicker of something touched Shirabu’s face at the mention of Semi’s name, but he agreed easily.

When he was gone, Kuroo grabbed his notebook and started scribbling furiously. Iwaizumi watched him in silence, mulling over the things that Shirabu had said. He had stated quite plainly that he didn’t suspect Semi of engaging in any illicit behavior. He thought the dissent between them was just that; only between the two of them. Shirabu didn’t think there was a root cause, something else that was making Semi behave in such a way.

Iwaizumi hoped he was right.

A few minutes later Semi entered the room. He barely even glanced at Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi wondered if one of the others had tipped him off.

Kuroo conducted the interview in the same manner than he’d done the others. He asked the same questions and, at first, received mostly the same answers, though a little clipped. Semi sat with his arms crossed over his chest, brow folded into a scowl. 

After Semi confirmed he hadn’t noticed anything suspicious about their clientele, Kuroo asked about his coworkers.

“No,” Semi said simply. “They’re all fine.”

Kuroo drummed his fingers against his thigh, fixated on Semi. “You sure about that?” he pressed. “No one is behaving differently? No one is suspicious?”

“No.”

Kuroo leaned back a little, still studying him. “I heard there have been some issues between you and one of your coworkers recently. Let’s talk about that for a minute.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sure you do,” said Kuroo amiably. “The other bartender. His name is Shirabu, right? How do you and Shirabu get along?”

Semi’s cold stare cut directly to Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi realized, with a curl of cold alarm, that Semi thought Iwaizumi had mentioned the argument he’d witnessed between the two bartenders.

“We don’t have any issues,” Semi said through his teeth. “He’s annoying. That’s all.”

“Has it gotten worse recently?” asked Kuroo. “Have you noticed more tension over the past few weeks?”

“No. It’s the same as it’s always been.”

Even if Iwaizumi hadn’t had prior knowledge of the situation, he would’ve known Semi was lying.

Kuroo pressed him for a little while longer, but Semi refused to give anything else. He gave curt, one-word responses that grew increasingly frustrated.

Finally, Kuroo gave up. “Alright,” he said. “One last question and you’ll be done.”

He asked him the same thing he’d asked the others, about his ability to pass a drug screen.

Semi’s answering glare was scalding. “I’m pretty sure,” he spat, “that you can’t legally drug screen me. It’s a violation of my privacy. Ushijima can do it as my employer, but he won’t. You don’t have that authority over me.”

Kuroo blinked at him, then briefly looked over at Iwaizumi, who’d remained silent through the entire interview. “Okay then,” said Kuroo. “I think that wraps it up. Thank you for your time, Semi-san.”

Semi stood with a huff. He marched to the door but paused before stepping into the hallway. “Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi looked up, stomach lurching as he met Semi’s sharp stare.

“Stop using Oikawa for information,” said Semi, the words cutting into Iwaizumi like a knife. “He doesn’t deserve that.”

“I’m not-”

The door slammed shut between them, leaving the two officers alone.

Iwaizumi felt Kuroo’s stare. 

“Who’s Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi swallowed and tried to keep his face impassive. “A mutual acquaintance.”

“Hold up. You know Semi? Why didn’t you say something?”

“I don’t know him very well,” said Iwaizumi. He gave in to the inevitable and turned his head to look at Kuroo. “I’ve only met him a couple of times. I don’t really know anything about him.”

Kuroo studied him, thinking over Iwaizumi’s explanation. “Where’d you meet him?”

Iwaizumi couldn’t help but feel he was now participating in his own interview. “Here.”

“At the club?” said Kuroo, mouth curling into something resembling a grin. “You’ve been here before?”

Iwaizumi scowled at him. “Only a couple of times. Makki and Mattsun brought me here to celebrate my promotion.”

Kuroo snorted. “I can’t picture it. You seem too tight-laced for a place like this.” 

“Shut up, Kuroo.”

Kuroo grabbed his notebook, still grinning a little at Iwaizumi’s expense, and started taking notes from their conversation with Semi.

Iwaizumi relaxed a little, finally. It didn’t seem that Kuroo was going to press the issue. 

“What do you think about him?” asked Kuroo, tapping his pen against his thigh as he gathered his thoughts. “Suspicious?”

“He’s clearly got some issues,” said Iwaizumi. “I don’t know if they’re related to the case or not.”

“Hmm.” Kuroo made one last note and stood. “I’m going to have Yamamoto put some time in. He’s the best undercover officer I’ve got. No one in their right mind would think he’s an officer, even if he was wearing a uniform. But in the meantime.” He tucked the notepad into his pocket. “Why don’t you ask this Oikawa person about Semi? See if he knows anything about him.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth went dry. “Yeah, okay,” he lied. “I’ll ask him.”

Kuroo nodded and led them out of the room.

Iwaizumi hoped Kuroo forgot Oikawa’s name and never brought it up again. 

He refused to ask Oikawa about anything related to the case.

He wasn’t going to prove Semi right. 


	7. Chapter 7

In the back of the police station, there was a room housing a quartet of small jail cells. The officers called it the drunk tank, because it’s where they brought the heavily inebriated in order for them to sober up.

Iwaizumi walked into the drunk tank with a bag of takeout swinging from his hand. Hanamaki looked up from his seat in the narrow hallway. “Hey, sarge.”

There was an awkward shuffling from one of the cells. A wrinkled face pressed against the bars, glassy eyes narrowing in a smile. “Iwzumi!” 

“Good morning, Hiroshi-san,” said Iwaizumi. It was fifteen minutes past midnight. That was technically morning. “I brought you some dinner. Or breakfast, whatever you’d like to call it.”

“You’re th’ best, Iwzumi,” the man slurred. 

The drunk tank wasn’t used as frequently as one would imagine. Typically if someone was so drunk that the police had to interfere, there were other issues involved and they ended up at the jail instead. Hiroshi was the most frequent visitor here. Above the cell he currently occupied there was a paper nailed to the wall with Hiroshi’s name on it. Matsukawa had hung it there about a year ago as a joke and no one had bothered to remove it. 

Iwaizumi had to tilt the takeout sideways in order to fit it through the bars. It was just rice and vegetables; a little rough treatment wouldn’t hurt it. He also passed a plastic fork to Hiroshi. He didn’t have the coordination for chopsticks.

The old man plopped down on the metal bench in his cell and started shoveling food into his toothless mouth. Apparently he’d been so drunk that he’d forgotten his dentures, or lost them somewhere along the way.

Iwaizumi sat beside Hanamaki and tuned out the smacking sounds of Hiroshi’s dinner. “It’s so slow tonight that I’ve almost fallen asleep in my cruiser three times.”

“Not setting a very good example, sarge.”

“Shut up, Makki.”

Hanamaki grinned. “Go ahead and nap for a few. I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”

Iwaizumi gave him a flat stare. “We both know you’d take pictures and use them as blackmail.”

“True. But I would also wake you up if anything happened.”

Iwaizumi shook his head and leaned back in his chair. 

Inside the cell, Hiroshi dropped his fork on the floor. Before Iwaizumi could offer to bring him another one he’d already picked it up and resumed his meal as if it hadn’t happened.

“So,” said Hanamaki. “What’s going on with you and Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi felt an unpleasant twist in his gut at the mention of the name. It had been over a week since he’d gone to Oikawa’s apartment. Since then, he hadn’t spoken to him a single time. 

Iwaizumi had decided, after hours of deliberation, that one of three things must have happened.

Possibility one: Oikawa had only wanted one night with Iwaizumi. Now that he’d gotten it, he was done.

Possibility two: Iwaizumi hadn’t performed up to Oikawa’s sexual standards and he no longer wanted anything to do with him.

Possibility three: Oikawa was mad that Iwaizumi left after sex to go to work.

He felt possibility three was the most likely.

“Still haven’t heard from him?” Hanamaki said after a beat of silence. “I told you to call him.”

“I did call him. He didn’t answer. Clearly he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“So you’re just going to give up?”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “What else am I supposed to do?”

Hanamaki exhaled, a huff of sheer frustration. “You’re impossible, Iwa. Go find him. Go talk to him. Go do _something_.”

“He doesn’t want to see me.”

“You don’t know that!”

“He’s been ignoring me for a week,” said Iwaizumi, a little too sharply. “What else is that supposed to mean?”

Hanamaki slumped down in his chair and folded his arms.

A moment later Matsukawa walked in, a cardboard cup of coffee in his hand. “’Sup.”

“Hey, Mattsun.”

“Matska!” Came Hiroshi’s drunken greeting.

Matsukawa offered him a wave and the old man returned to his food.

“Mattsun, tell Iwaizumi he needs to go talk to Oikawa.”

Matsukawa looked down at him, expression blank. “You need to go talk to Oikawa.”

“Shut up. He doesn’t want to see me anymore. Can we stop talking about it already?”

“Sure,” said Makki. “We’ll stop as soon as you talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Then he’ll tell you that,” said Hanamaki. “When you go talk to him.”

Iwaizumi sighed. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about tracking Oikawa down and seeing what his problem was. He’d actually left his apartment on several occasions over the past week with the intention of checking Shiratorizawa to see if Oikawa was there.

Each time he’d turned around before he’d even made it to the next block.

He’d convinced himself that just letting Oikawa drift away was the easiest thing to do. They’d only had one date. It wasn’t as if there was anything there to preserve, anyway. This was better than forcing himself to hear a face-to-face rejection.

Although he supposed some sense of closure would be nice, no matter how awful the rejection would be.

“Well,” said Matsukawa, “Good talk. See you guys later.”

He turned around but Hanamaki’s sharp tone stopped him.

“Where are you going?”

“Back out to patrol.”

“Why?”

Matsukawa shrugged one shoulder. “Because it’s my job?”

Hanamaki’s glare was too heated for the situation. Iwaizumi looked between them, confused.

“What’s your problem?” demanded Makki. “You’ve been weird lately.”

“I haven’t been weird.”

“Yes, you have,” said Hanamaki. “Is it because I laughed at you for tripping up the stairs last week? If so then fuck you, that was hilarious and you know it.”

“I don’t care about that. I laughed too.”

“Then what is it?”

Matsukawa shook his head and started toward the door again. “Nothing, Hanamaki. You’re imagining things.”

“Well joke’s on you!” he shouted after him. “I don’t have an imagination!”

Matsukawa didn’t rise to the bait. He left the drunk tank without another word.

Hanamaki rounded on Iwaizumi in his absence. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I… don’t know?” said Iwaizumi, startled by Makki’s intensity. “I haven’t noticed anything different.”

“Only because you’ve had your head up your ass worrying about Oikawa,” said Hanamaki. “Something is going on with Mattsun. I don’t like it.”

Iwaizumi tried not to be offended by that comment. Clearly Hanamaki was too upset to filter his insults. 

“Makki, look…”

“Save it,” said Hanamaki. “If you really haven’t noticed that something’s going on with Mattsun then you’re farther gone than I thought. I don’t want to hear anything from you until you settle this shit with Oikawa.”

“There’s nothing to settle, Makki. He’s not-”

Hanamaki leaned so close that Iwaizumi felt the heat of his glare. “Do you still like him?”

“This isn’t-”

“ _Do you_?”

Iwaizumi inched back, putting a little distance between them. “Well yeah, but I-”

“Then do something about it, you idiot.” He slapped Iwaizumi’s shoulder and stood, storming toward the door. “If you lose him over something stupid you’re going to hate yourself.”

He left the room and slammed the door behind him. 

Hiroshi startled at the sound. He looked up at Iwaizumi and then smiled. There was rice stuck to his gums.

Iwaizumi hunched over in the chair and sulked. 

Hanamaki was right. 

If he didn’t at least try, he was going to regret it.

  
  
  
  
On Saturday night, Iwaizumi went to Shiratorizawa.

He was anxious all the way there, and his unease peaked at he stepped through the door. Kawanishi was the bouncer on duty and he gave Iwaizumi a nod of acknowledgment as he entered.

The club was packed. Iwaizumi had waited until nine o’clock to give himself the best chance of catching Oikawa. He scanned through the press of people as he wormed his way through the crowd but didn’t see him. He hopped onto a barstool to gain some perspective, combing through the mess of bodies on the dance floor. He wasn’t there, either.

“Can I get you something?”

Iwaizumi swiveled, mouth open to ask about Oikawa.

The words died on his tongue as he and Semi recognized each other.

They stared at one another for a moment. Then Semi turned to walk away.

“Wait!” said Iwaizumi, raising his voice to be heard over the noise of the club. “Is Oikawa here?”

Semi didn’t stop walking. “No.”

The girl perched on the stool beside Iwaizumi gave him a weird look. He didn’t even acknowledge her.

A few minutes later Shirabu stepped out of the back room and Iwaizumi waved him over.

Semi seized Shirabu’s sleeve and muttered in his ear. Shirabu shook him off and approached Iwaizumi. He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look as unfriendly as Semi, either.

“Is Oikawa here?” Iwaizumi asked again, leaning across the bar a little.

Shirabu’s eyes flicked down, to the peace offering clutched in Iwaizumi’s hands. “No, he isn’t.”

“Do you know if he’s coming?”

Shirabu’s gaze rose again. “He said he’s been ignoring you.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Iwaizumi, trying to suppress his impatience. “That’s why I need to talk to him.”

“Do you even know why he’s avoiding you?”

Iwaizumi’s brows pulled together. “Well I have a few guesses, but no, not exactly. That’s why I’m trying to find him.”

Shirabu sighed and rested his elbows on the bar. “Semi told him you were only going out with him to try and get information on the club.”

A knot of dread pulled tight in Iwaizumi’s chest. “He told him _what_ ?”

“It is a little suspicious,” said Shirabu. “You only started hanging out here a little before the police started investigating.”

“So?”

“So maybe you thought Oikawa’s an easy target,” said Shirabu with another shrug. “He doesn’t work here, but he knows everyone. And he’s got that connection to Ushijima, which could be easily exploited. It makes sense.”

“I’m not _exploiting_ him,” he said, spitting the word. “This has nothing to do with the case. Will you just tell me if he’s coming tonight?”

Shirabu looked over his shoulder at Semi, who stood a short distance away, scowling at the pair of them. 

“You’re really not using him?”

“Of course not.”

“So you like him.”

“I…” Iwaizumi floundered for the right words. He felt his face getting hot. “I mean, he’s… Fuck. Yeah, I like him. I like Oikawa.”

Shirabu tilted his head to the side and smiled. The expression was almost scary. 

“He’s at the restaurant,” said Shirabu. “He had to stay late to do inventory. He’ll be there for another hour or so.”

Iwaizumi was hopping off of the stool before he’d even finished the sentence. “Thanks, Shirabu!”

He threaded through the mass of people again and hit the street at a brisk walk. Less than ten minutes later he was in front of Sapphire Grove, staring at the front door with a nauseating sense of anticipation.

At least he didn’t have to go into this conversation blind. Now he knew why Oikawa didn’t want to talk to him.

Honestly, he couldn’t really blame him.

Although he did want to punch Semi in the face.

He just had to convince Oikawa that he was wrong. He wasn’t certain exactly how he was going to go about it, but he had to do it.

He sucked in a deep breath of night air and pulled open the door. 

The atmosphere of the restaurant was as calm and serene as he remembered. 

It was the extreme opposite of how Iwaizumi felt.

A host stood behind the small counter. It was a different person than last time. This one was tall and blond and looked utterly bored.

“Good evening, sir,” he said, blandly. “Do you have a reservation?”

“No. I need to speak to Oikawa.”

The host raised an eyebrow. “You want to speak with the manager?”

“Yes.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I just need to speak with him. Please.”

The host looked skeptical, but stepped from behind the counter. “Sure. Please wait.”

“Thank you.”

He disappeared around the corner and Iwaizumi turned to watch the fish swim lazily in the large tank. He thought maybe their slow movements would calm him down. 

It didn’t help.

A minute passed. Iwaizumi started pacing back and forth in the lobby, counting his steps to give his mind something to focus on. 

A middle-aged couple entered the restaurant and he had to stand still and let them pass. 

This time the host that approached was the freckled one from last time, the one Oikawa had called Tadashi. Tadashi collected the guests and gave Iwaizumi a curious look before leading them away.

Iwaizumi wondered if he should start pacing again, but it hadn’t relieved any of his stress, so he didn’t bother.

He stood in the middle of the lobby, plastic crinkling in his grip, wondering if this was the worst idea he’d ever had.

Then the tall host rounded the corner with long strides. Oikawa followed behind him. When he saw Iwaizumi, his polite interest gave way to irritation for only a moment before he pulled his professional mask back on.

“Can I help you, officer?” he said, the sugar-sweet voice slipping through a strained smile.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m a little busy at the moment.” Oikawa turned and waved over his shoulder. “See yourself out.”

“Oikawa, please. Five minutes.”

Oikawa stopped walking, but didn’t turn around. It seemed to be the best that Iwaizumi was going to get.

“I thought you were mad at me because I left that night,” said Iwaizumi, all too aware that the host was watching the exchange with mild interest. “I didn’t know Semi said anything to you until twenty minutes ago.”

“Semi isn’t the problem here.” He still didn’t turn around.

“I know that. The problem is that you think I was using you and I wasn’t.”

Oikawa was silent.

“I wasn’t trying to get information from you. I never even considered it.” Iwaizumi knew he was supposed to be apologetic, but a touch of heat crept into his voice. “And honestly, how could you even believe that? I never even asked you about the damn club, Oikawa. I wasn’t thinking about any of that when I was with you.” 

“Then what were you thinking about?”

“Your ass, mostly.”

That did it. Oikawa whipped back around to face him, trying – and failing – to look offended. “How dare you.”

“Will you just stop being stubborn and talk to me? I didn’t use you, Oikawa. I went out with you because I’m stupid enough to actually like you.”

On the sidelines the host looked between them, moderately entertained.

Oikawa’s glare slid away from Iwaizumi’s face and slipped down. “What’s that?”

Iwaizumi took a step forward and shoved the gift against Oikawa’s chest. He was flushing so hard that he felt like his face was on fire. “It’s those stupid roses you wanted. I should’ve gotten them the first time.”

Oikawa’s face went blank as he stared at the bouquet of pink roses that was slightly crumpled from Iwaizumi’s too-tight grip. 

The host snorted, hiding a smirk behind his hand. 

Oikawa’s attention snapped toward him. “Tsukishima! Don’t you have something you should be doing?”

The boy rolled his eyes before slowly meandering away and disappearing into the dining room.

Oikawa lowered the roses and held them loosely by his side. “Are you telling the truth, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi felt the knot in his chest loosen at the sound of the dumb nickname. “Police officers don’t lie.”

Oikawa swatted him with his free hand. “Shut up. I’m serious.”

“So am I. I wasn’t using you. When I met you I didn’t even know you were involved with the club. You know that.”

“You were with your police friends. I thought maybe you were scoping out a target,” he said. “And then the next time those investigators were there and I thought maybe they were watching us. And then-”

“Did you actually come up with this,” said Iwaizumi, “or did it come from Semi?”

Oikawa fidgeted under his stare. “Well he might’ve said you probably just wanted to get close to me because of Ushiwaka.”

“That doesn’t make sense. I don’t even know how you and Ushijima know each other.”

Surprise flashed across Oikawa’s face. “Really?”

“Well yeah, how am I supposed to know?”

Oikawa frowned at him, as if trying to determine if he was lying. At length, he said, “Ushijima owns the restaurant. He’s my boss. That’s why I hang out with the guys at the club all the time. We all work for him.”

That actually explained a lot.

“Oh,” said Iwaizumi. A wash of relief trickled down his spine like fresh rain. “I thought he was your ex or something.” 

For a moment there was complete silence. Then Oikawa laughed so loudly that it echoed from the rafters. He doubled over, clutched his stomach, and almost smacked himself in the face with the roses. “Oh my god,” he panted between laughter. “Iwa-chan, oh my god… me and Ushiwaka? You’re kidding… You have to be kidding.”

“What was I supposed to think?” said Iwaizumi, scowling. “The way he barged in on us was like he was jealous. Or like he was your dad.”

Oikawa dissolved in another bout of laughter. He clutched onto the counter to keep himself upright, head thrown back in glee. “Iwa-chan thinks Ushiwaka is my dad!”

“That’s not what I said!”

“I can’t wait to see Ushiwaka,” said Oikawa, giggling as he caught his breath. “I’m going to start calling him dad. He’ll be so confused.”

Iwaizumi folded his arms and waited for Oikawa to regain his focus. It took a few minutes, and when Oikawa straightened to look at him, there were tears of laughter beaded in the corners of his eyes.

“Are you done?”

“I think so,” said Oikawa, still grinning like an idiot. 

“Good. So what about us then?”

His humor faded. “What do you mean?”

“I apologize,” said Iwaizumi, “for the misunderstanding. Are you going to keep ignoring me now?”

“Of course not, Iwa-chan. I forgive you.” He glanced down at his flowers and added, “I’m sorry too, I guess. For believing Semi.”

“It’s fine. So what now?”

Oikawa blinked up at him. “What?”

“What are we doing now? Do you want to go out again?”

Oikawa shrugged. “I mean, if you insist. I don’t want to hurt your feelings by turning you down.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“And you like me anyway, Iwa-chan.”

“I have no idea why.”

The sound of singular applause rang out from overhead. They craned their heads back to find Suga leaning over the rail of the balcony, beaming down at them. Tsukishima stood at his side with his arms folded. “That was beautiful!” Suga called down to them. “I’m so proud of both of you!”

“Shut up, Suga!” snapped Oikawa. “I’ll fire you!”

“No, you won’t!”

Oikawa cursed under his breath and turned away. “Stupid Suga-chan.”

“Hey,” said Iwaizumi. He reached out and touched Oikawa’s elbow to get his attention. “What time do you leave tonight?”

Oikawa’s scowl lifted. “Whenever I want. I’m in charge.”

“Do you want to go somewhere?”

“Not really,” shrugged Oikawa. “I’m not in the mood to go out.” A smirk touched his mouth and he added, “but I’m in the mood to stay in, if you’d like to take me to your place.”

Iwaizumi brushed a thumb along Oikawa’s cheekbone, cupped his face, and pressed a quick kiss against his mouth. There was a catcall from overhead and Iwaizumi’s cheeks burned as he pulled back and said, “Anything you want, Oikawa.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 80% smut, 15% fluff, and 5% plot. 
> 
> I'm not sorry.

They took a cab to Iwaizumi’s apartment. It was within walking distance, but neither of them wanted to waste half an hour getting there when they could allot that time to more satisfying pursuits.

The cab ride was silent. They sat with a safe amount of distance between them, occasionally stealing glances at one another. Oikawa smirked when he managed to catch Iwaizumi’s eye. 

The apartment was on the second floor, so they didn’t bother with the elevator. They trekked up the stairwell, and when they were halfway up the steps Oikawa reached out to slip his fingers between Iwaizumi’s. 

Iwaizumi almost tripped.

Sometime between their last encounter in Oikawa’s apartment and the conversation at the restaurant, something had shifted. Iwaizumi felt it, tangible on the air between them. It was clear that there was a specific reason that they were going to Iwaizumi’s apartment, but something about it was different. It wasn’t just for a quick fuck for the sole purpose of self-gratification. Iwaizumi had liked Oikawa before, sure, but the primary threads stringing them together were woven of sexual attraction.

Now Oikawa was holding his hand like they were _together_ , like there was some other reason for them to be with one another aside from sex. Iwaizumi didn’t know how to deal with this.

He let them into his apartment one-handed, but Oikawa finally released him so they could take off their shoes. Iwaizumi hesitated just inside the door, worried that this was going to be awkward, but Oikawa strode into the apartment like he’d been there a thousand times before.

“I need a vase for my roses,” he announced, heading toward the small kitchen. “Where can I find one, Iwa-chan?”

“I don’t own a vase.”

Oikawa turned back toward him, scandalized. “Please don’t tell me you’re that uncivilized.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re this dramatic about everything.”

Oikawa waved off the comment and started searching through the kitchen cabinets. Iwaizumi watched him from a distance, bemused.

“This is a disgrace, Iwa-chan,” said Oikawa. He crouched down to peer in the cabinets beneath the sink. He made a _tsk_ sound and emerged from the cabinet with one of Iwaizumi’s cooking pots. He filled it full of sink water and dipped the stems of the bouquet into it. “I guess this will work until I take them home,” he said with a frown. “Or until you decide to class this place up and buy a proper vase.”

“There is literally no reason for me to waste my money on that.”

Oikawa looked pointedly at his roses on the counter. “This is the reason, Iwa-chan. You need to be prepared.”

“Or I’ll just never buy you flowers again and save us all the trouble.”

Oikawa ignored the comment in favor of exploring the rest of the apartment. He wandered into the single bedroom without invitation, then stuck his head into the attached bathroom for a quick peek, before ambling back into the living room, which was separated from the kitchen by a half-wall. 

“I like it,” Oikawa announced. “It’s cozy.” He plopped down on the end of the couch and stretched out. “I expected you to live in a cave, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi grumbled a complaint, but he was secretly relieved. After witnessing the spacious grandeur of Oikawa’s apartment, he’d been worried that his wouldn’t be up to standard.

He shoved Oikawa’s feet off the couch and sat down, only to have a pair of legs immediately drape over his lap. “You smell like food,” said Iwaizumi, wrinkling his nose at the restaurant scent that clung to Oikawa’s clothing. 

“At least it’s high-class food,” said Oikawa. He pillowed his arms behind his head and grinned. “And it’s probably better than the way you smell when you’re finished with a shift.”

Iwaizumi couldn’t really argue with that. There had been several occasions on which he’d come home with impenetrable stains on his uniform that he preferred not to think about. He’d always lived alone so there had never been anyone to complain about it.

He had a feeling that complaining was one of Oikawa’s talents.

Oikawa wiggled his toes in Iwaizumi’s lap. “Massage my feet, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi shoved his legs away. “Get off me.”

Oikawa laughed and sat up, scooting closer until their shoulders brushed. “Why are you so grumpy all the time?”

“I’m not. You’re just annoying.”

“Then why did you bring me to your apartment?” asked Oikawa, tilting his head. “Do you just want me for my body, Iwa-chan?”

The easy answer would’ve been yes. The correct answer should have been yes.

But it wasn’t the truth, and they both knew it.

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Trasykawa,” he said, the insult easier than the admission. 

Oikawa was unoffended. He grinned and leaned closer, propping his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder to look up at him. Oikawa’s fingers tickled along Iwaizumi’s forearm, sliding down until they were again holding hands. His voice was low as he whispered, “Thanks for my flowers, Iwa-chan.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Iwaizumi pulled his hand away, and for a moment Oikawa looked hurt. Then Iwaizumi moved his arm to rest around Oikawa’s shoulders and pulled him closer. 

Oikawa pressed his face into a firm, muscled chest and smiled. 

They sat like that for a moment, simply enjoying one another’s presence. Iwaizumi still felt he was out of his element, but even so, it was nice. Being with Oikawa was nice, even when the idiot was running his mouth. 

Oikawa traced aimless shapes into Iwaizumi’s thigh, his fingers gradually drawing higher until they were nearly at his hip. He tilted his head back to gaze up at Iwaizumi. “Iwa-chan?”

“Hmm?”

“You can kiss me anytime, you know.”

“I know. I don’t really feel like it.”

Oikawa pulled away, mouth open in mock offense. “Iwa-chan, rude!”

Iwaizumi snorted as he pressed a palm against the side of Oikawa’s face and pulled him in. The press of their mouths was firm, perfect. Oikawa shifted closer, one hand curling around the back of Iwaizumi’s neck, the other gliding along the muscled planes of his chest. Oikawa hummed appreciatively into the kiss as his palm smoothed over Iwaizumi’s stomach. “Very firm abs,” he mumbled. “All that core strength must be why you fucked me so hard.”

The words jolted Iwaizumi, sending a coil of heat somewhere below Oikawa’s exploring hand. He threaded his fingers into copper curls and pulled back, biting down on Oikawa’s bottom lip and forcing a moan out of him. 

Oikawa extracted himself from the grip, and for a moment Iwaizumi feared he’d been too rough. 

Then Oikawa straddled him, plopped down in his lap, and kissed him like he was starved for Iwaizumi’s lips.

Iwaizumi gripped Oikawa’s hips and slid his fingers up, beneath the hem of his shirt, along the ridges of his ribs. Oikawa’s tongue darted out, prodding along Iwaizumi’s lips, then licking into his mouth. Their tongues twisted together and their hands searched for bare skin and then Oikawa rolled his hips down, hard, and they chorused a moan. 

The last time, they’d already been naked at this point, Iwaizumi hustling to prepare Oikawa as quickly as possible so he could fuck him.

This was going to be different.

Iwaizumi removed his hands from Oikawa’s shirt and used them to frame his face instead, brushing his thumbs over Oikawa’s high cheekbones as they kissed. Oikawa made a sound against his lips and pulled back just far enough to look at him from beneath heavy eyelids. 

He moved his lips as if he was going to speak, but no words emerged. After a moment he gave up and ducked his head, pressing a kiss against Iwaizumi’s cheek, then the edge of his jaw, and then behind his ear. His tongue flicked out to taste the skin, the he descended to Iwaizumi’s neck, littering kisses across the stretch of sun-kissed skin, sucking lightly with a hint of teeth. 

Iwaizumi closed his eyes and let his head fall back, appreciating the affection.

Then Oikawa ground his hips down again and Iwaizumi sucked in a breath through his teeth.

Oikawa grinned playfully, his tongue darting out to trace his upper lip. “Are you having a good time, Iwa-chan?” he asked, voice husky.

Iwaizumi vaguely recalled him asking the same thing in the private room of the club. The encounter paralleled their current activities, but the atmosphere was quite different. It wasn’t just sudden lust and hot friction, although there was a touch of that, too. Now something else was underlying sheer sexual desire, something that made Iwaizumi’s movements gentler as he maneuvered Oikawa onto his back and pressed close over top of him. 

“Shittykawa,” mumbled Iwaizumi, pushing their mouths together again. They kissed with a sense of familiarity that should have been reserved for couples who’d known each other longer, couples who’d actually dated and gotten acquainted and knew everything about one another. 

They weren’t even a couple, although Iwaizumi couldn’t help thinking that he might like it if they were.

There was an entirely separate set of problems that it would cause, the most pressing among them being that he was, to society’s knowledge, a completely heterosexual male.

Something like this could seriously affect his life and his livelihood, but those issues seemed dimmer when Oikawa was beneath him, writhing as Iwaizumi nuzzled into his neck and rocked their hips together. 

Iwaizumi had a lot of things to figure out concerning his place in the world, but for right now, the world could wait.

“Take your shirt off,” he said, the words muffled by Oikawa’s neck.

“You first.”

Iwaizumi huffed but obeyed, sitting up to yank his shirt over his head. Oikawa wormed his way out of his own, tossing it blindly to the side as Iwaizumi drew near again, his mouth working along Oikawa’s collarbones. 

His tongue traced a trail down, along a lean chest. His teeth scraped a nipple and Oikawa whined, his hands gripping at Iwaizumi’s shoulders. 

A trail of kisses was scattered across Oikawa’s chest and stomach. Iwaizumi paused just over his hip and sucked until Oikawa writhed, broken sounds tumbling from his lips.

Iwaizumi looked up at him, hot breath ghosting across Oikawa’s stomach. “Take your pants off and come to the bedroom,” he said. He dropped one more kiss onto Oikawa’s hip and extracted himself from the twist of limbs. “I’m not fucking you on the couch.”

Oikawa sat up, breath coming short. “But what if I want you to?”

“Sucks for you. Come on, Shittykawa.”

“You’re so mean,” said Oikawa, trying and failing to sound annoyed. He staggered upright and followed after Iwaizumi, fighting with the button on his pants as he walked. “So, so mean.”

“Then why are you still here?”

Oikawa glared at him from the doorway as he shucked his pants off and kicked his way out of them. Further into the bedroom Iwaizumi did the same, stripping down to boxer briefs that hugged his muscular thighs. 

Oikawa swallowed, eyes stuck to the only remaining article of clothing that Iwaizumi wore. “I think if I left it would hurt your feelings.”

“Well don’t stay just for me,” said Iwaizumi. He moved closer, stopping only when he was a breath away from Oikawa. “If you want to leave, feel free. No one’s stopping you.”

Oikawa glanced between them, at the planes of Iwaizumi’s body. “Shut up, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi grinned. Immediately after, Oikawa yelped as he was bodily lifted and tossed onto the bed.

“No fair!” he protested. “You can’t just _lift_ me like that!”

“I just did,” said Iwaizumi simply. He turned away from Oikawa to rifle through the night table at the side of the bed. 

Oikawa craned his neck to see and caught a glimpse of lube, condoms, and a scatter of bullets.

For a moment he almost panicked. Then he remembered that Iwaizumi was a police officer.

When he thought about it that way, it was kind of sexy.

The bed dipped beneath Iwaizumi’s weight as he crawled up beside Oikawa, took his face in his hands, and kissed him. Their mouths moved together slowly, the kiss languid. Iwaizumi mapped out Oikawa’s mouth, devoting to memory the hard edges of his teeth and the texture of his tongue. Oikawa dragged his fingers from Iwaizumi’s knee up his thigh and across his ribs, the light touch making Iwaizumi shiver. He slipped a knee between Oikawa’s thighs, creating friction that Oikawa eagerly pressed into. 

When they broke the kiss a string of saliva lingered between them. Iwaizumi brushed it away with the back of his hand and nudged Oikawa’s shoulder, coaxing him onto his back. He crawled further down the bed and positioned himself between Oikawa’s knees, fingers toying at the edges of his underwear. “Don’t even think about it,” said Oikawa, slapping his hand away. “Take yours off first. It’s not fair.”

Iwaizumi gave him a flat look, but the amused twitch at the corner of his mouth ruined the expression. He peeled off his own boxers, appreciating the way that Oikawa watched the slow reveal with rapt attention. Once he was unclothed, he yanked off Oikawa’s underwear before he could protest again.

Oikawa grumbled something that contained the words _mean_ and _rude_ and _Iwa-chan_ , but when Iwaizumi dragged his tongue in a slow stripe along Oikawa’s length, that protest was suddenly forgotten.

Iwaizumi mouthed at Oikawa’s cock, sucking here and there, flicking his tongue out in an occasional lick, doing whatever he could to make Oikawa squirm beneath him. Then, without warning, he wrapped his mouth around the head and swallowed him nearly to the base.

Oikawa gasped and then groaned, reaching down to curl his fingers into the back of Iwaizumi’s hair. 

Iwaizumi slowly started bobbing his head, cheeks hollowed to create suction, tongue working around Oikawa’s length as he moved. Obscene sounds spilled from Oikawa’s lips, a symphony of _yes_ and _oh god_ and _fuck, Iwa-chan_.

He bit down on a cry when Iwaizumi pressed a lube-slick finger against his entrance, catching him off-guard. Iwaizumi paused and pulled off of his dick, alerted by the sound. “Something wrong?”

“No,” said Oikawa quickly. 

Iwaizumi looked unconvinced.

“I’m fine, Iwa-chan. Stop looking at me like that and keep going.”

Iwaizumi shrugged and sucked Oikawa’s dick back into his mouth. Oikawa fell back with a moan, this time prepared as a finger eased its way inside him. Iwaizumi continued to lave attention on Oikawa’s dick as he worked him open, and when he finally pulled away and wiped away the spit that had drizzled down his chin, he had three fingers comfortably seated inside Oikawa.

He met dark eyes as he thrust his fingers in and out, the digits sliding easily. Then he curled them upward, pressing, seeking, until Oikawa lurched beneath him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” hissed Oikawa, the word ragged. 

Iwaizumi hummed and did it again, leaving open mouthed kisses on Oikawa’s shivering inner thigh. 

Oikawa clutched desperately at the sheets, as if they would keep him grounded. 

Iwaizumi curled his fingers again and again, watching Oikawa shudder and curse and unravel. He lightly bit into Oikawa’s thigh, inducing a shiver. 

“I could make you come like this,” he said, voice low and rough. “I bet I wouldn’t even have to touch you.”

Oikawa raised his head just enough to look down at him, desperate. “Iwa-chan, don’t you dare.”

“Why not?” He twisted his fingers again, earned another sharp cry of _fuck_! “I’d like to see it.”

“Don’t,” said Oikawa. “I want to come while you’re fucking me, Iwa-chan. Stop.”

Iwaizumi gave another few shallow thrusts of his fingers, not diving as deeply. “You want me to fuck you?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“Say please.”

“You’re such a pervert,” said Oikawa, flinging an arm over his face. “You did this last time, Iwa-chan. Is this some kind of kink? If so, I- ah, _ahh_ …”

The protest dissolved into a moan when Iwaizumi licked the length of his cock.

“It’s not a kink,” he said, lips pressing against the head of Oikawa’s dick as he spoke. “It’s just good manners. Say please and I’ll do it.”

Oikawa hesitated, like he was still thinking about arguing. Then, his face still hidden by his arm, he said quietly, “Please fuck me, Iwa-chan.”

He was rewarded with one more vicious curl of Iwaizumi’s fingers before he withdrew completely. He rolled on a condom in record time and was hovering back over Oikawa, the head of his cock pressed against the slick, waiting entrance.

Oikawa’s chest rose and fell, breath coming quickly in anticipation. He dropped his arm and looked up at Iwaizumi, his cheeks dusted with a faint touch of pink. 

Iwaizumi gripped just below each of Oikawa’s knees and spread his legs as he pushed inside, slowly. Oikawa clutched the sheets, bit his lip, and squeezed his eyes shut as Iwaizumi sank all the way in. 

They’d done this before, and both of them remembered it quite well. But the atmosphere was palpably different this time, infused with a level of intimacy that hadn’t existed a week before. Iwaizumi paused to take in the sight of Oikawa, messy-haired and red-faced and stunning, before he pulled his hips back and started a slow rhythm of thrusts.

He released Oikawa’s legs and leaned over him, planting a hand on either side of Oikawa’s shoulders, hovering. Oikawa wrapped his legs around his waist and started meeting his thrusts, fingers scrabbling sharply at Iwaizumi’s back. 

Their breaths mingled hotly until Iwaizumi dipped his head and captured Oikawa’s mouth, dipping inside, making sure that Oikawa could taste himself on his tongue. He gave a particularly hard thrust and Oikawa moaned into his mouth, nails scratching angry lines into Iwaizumi’s back.

Iwaizumi brushed a twist of hair out of Oikawa’s face, trailing his fingers along his temple and down to his jaw. “Do you know how you look right now?”

“Like a mess, probably,” said Oikawa, looking away from him.

Iwaizumi gripped his jaw and forced him to look back. “You look fucking beautiful,” he said, sealing the words with a kiss. 

As soon as his grip loosened Oikawa turned his face away again, cheeks burning. “Shut up, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi grinned and sucked a few kisses into the side of his neck. Then he readjusted his position and started thrusting in earnest, his pace quickening, hips pounding into Oikawa with loud, repetitive slaps.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , fuck!” Oikawa shouted, his legs tightening around Iwaizumi like a vice. “Harder, Iwa-chan, harder… yes, _yes_!”

Iwaizumi snaked a hand between them and pumped Oikawa’s dick, his palm quickly slicked with precome. 

“I-I’m going to come,” Oikawa stuttered, body tensing. “Oh my god, Iwa-chan… _Iwa-chan_!”

A hot spray of come spurted over Iwaizumi’s fingers and onto Oikawa’s chest. 

Iwaizumi felt Oikawa tighten around him and he thrust harder, faster, chasing his own release. 

“No, wait,” said Oikawa, slapping weakly at Iwaizumi’s chest. “Stop. Get off me.”

Iwaizumi froze, still inside Oikawa, a breath away from his own orgasm.

Oikawa pushed against him again and he consented. He pulled out with a wince and sat back on his feet, panting.

For a moment he wondered wildly what he’d done wrong. Then Oikawa peeled himself off of the sheets and pulled Iwaizumi down next to him, situating him on his back.

“Oikawa, what are you-”

“Shut up.” He crawled down and peeled off the condom, tossing it carelessly over the edge of the bed. He pumped Iwaizumi’s dick in his fist once, eliciting a full-body shudder. Then he wrapped his mouth around the head of his cock and sucked, hard.

Iwaizumi’s hips arched off the bed and he clenched his teeth together, stifling a moan. Oikawa sank down more, swirling his tongue around the length, grip tight on Iwaizumi’s thighs as he sucked.

It didn’t take long. Iwaizumi had already been so close that a little nudge was all he needed.

“Oikawa – shit, I can’t-”

Oikawa hummed around his cock and took even more of it, the head nudging the back of his throat.

Iwaizumi came with a muffled cry, hips rocking off the bed, shooting into Oikawa’s throat. 

Oikawa took it with no trouble, swallowing what he was given and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 

When he looked up at Iwaizumi it was with lazy satisfaction. “Iwa-chan,” he mumbled. He curled up beside him and pressed his face into Iwaizumi’s shoulder, regardless of his own come still sticky on his chest. 

“Get off me, Oikawa. You’re gross.”

“It’s your fault.”

“Go take a shower or something. I need to change the sheets.”

“I’m comfortable, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi sighed. He stretched over to press a kiss to Oikawa’s temple. “Then just go wipe yourself off then. I’ll change the sheets and then you can get comfortable again.”

Oikawa mumbled a protest against his shoulder. They remained like that for a long moment, then Oikawa finally stirred. He pushed himself up and frowned down at his chest. “Gross.”

“I told you.”

“You’re rude, Iwa-chan.”

“I know, you’ve said that.”

Oikawa gave a weak huff and shuffled to the edge of the bed. “Fine. I’ll be right back.” 

While he went into the bathroom to clean himself up, Iwaizumi refreshed the sheets so they wouldn’t be sleeping in their own half-dried fluids.

When Oikawa came back he immediately slipped into the bed without even looking for his clothes. Iwaizumi didn’t mind. He actually preferred Oikawa naked. 

Iwaizumi took a quick trip to the bathroom himself before venturing out to the living room to turn out the lights. He crept back to the bed and slid in beside Oikawa, who immediately snuggled into his warmth.

“So I guess you’re staying the night?” said Iwaizumi, wrapping an arm around Oikawa’s waist and pulling him closer.

“Yes.”

“Okay then.”

Oikawa nuzzled into Iwaizumi’s chest and tangled their legs together. Iwaizumi closed his eyes against the warm comfort and already felt himself drifting off.

Somewhere in the floor his phone gave two urgent chimes.

“Dammit.”

“Leave it,” said Oikawa, clinging to him more tightly. “Pretend you didn’t hear it.”

“It’s my work phone,” he said, trying to detach himself. “I can’t ignore it.”

“But Iwa-chan…”

“Hang on.” He freed himself just enough to lean over the edge of the bed, groping blindly along the floor until he found the leg of his pants. He pulled them closer and fished his phone out of the pocket. 

Oikawa pulled him back and latched onto him. Iwaizumi checked his phone, squinting against the bright screen.

“If you leave this time,” said Oikawa, the words muffled against Iwaizumi’s chest, “I’m never speaking to you again.”

“We’re at my apartment. Technically you’d be the one leaving when I kicked you out.”

“Not nice, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi chuckled. “It’s just an email. I’m not leaving.” 

He went to his mail app and opened the new message. It was from Captain Mizoguchi, which wasn’t uncommon. The strange part was the subject, which was simply “Matsukawa Issei.”

Iwaizumi read through the message once. Either he read it too quickly or he was too tired, because surely it hadn’t said what he thought it said.

He sat up, despite Oikawa’s protests, and read it again, suddenly wide awake.

“Iwa-chan, is something wrong?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t really know what to say, because yes, something was terribly wrong.

He should’ve listened to Hanamaki. Hanamaki had known that something was going on with Matsukawa. If Iwaizumi had listened, maybe he could have done something. Maybe he could have prevented this.

Annoyed and somewhat concerned about Iwaizumi’s silence, Oikawa sat up and read the email over his shoulder.

  
  
  
_Sergeant Iwaizumi,_

_Officer Matsukawa’s transfer request has been approved. As of Monday he will be reassigned to Shift 2. I am still uncertain of his replacement but I will inform you as soon as the decision is made. I will speak with you soon._

_Captain Mizoguchi_

  
  
  
“Iwa-chan? What does that mean?”

Iwaizumi swallowed. His mouth was suddenly dry, but that was nothing compared to the sinking feeling in his chest.

“It means Mattsun asked the captain to be reassigned,” he said numbly. “He doesn’t want to be on my shift anymore.”

Had Iwaizumi done something? Was Matsukawa unhappy with his performance as the new sergeant?

A dozen possibilities ran through Iwaizumi’s mind. Matsukawa was one of his closest friends. Surely if there had been a problem he would have said something rather than blindly requesting a transfer.

His phone screen faded into darkness and he stared at nothing, heart sinking lower as he thought about Hanamaki. He clearly hadn’t known anything about it, either.

If Iwaizumi was upset, Hanamaki would be furious.


	9. Chapter 9

At nine a.m. the following morning, there was a knock at Iwaizumi’s door. The response was belated. Two minutes passed before Iwaizumi scrabbled at the lock and pulled the door a quarter of the way open to peer into the hallway. He wasn’t smiling, but there was an uncommon contentment on his features, a contrast to his typical resting frown.

When he saw the identity of his visitor, his frown returned in full force.

“Mattsun,” he said, the name clipped.

Matsukawa sighed, the breath hanging heavily on the air between them. “Iwaizumi. We need to talk.”

“I’m kind of busy right now.”

Matsukawa glanced down at Iwaizumi, who was bare-chested and dressed only in a pair of sweatpants. “You don’t look busy.”

“I’m making sure my apartment doesn’t burn down,” said Iwaizumi. “Oikawa is disproving the notion that anyone with an IQ of at least fifty can boil a fucking egg.”

A voice from inside shouted, “I can hear you, Iwa-chan! It was an accident!”

Matsukawa blinked, surprised. “Oikawa is here?”

“Yeah. Do you have a problem with that?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, of course not. I’m glad it worked out. But I, umm. I really do need to talk to you, Iwa. Please.”

It was the quiet desperation written cleanly into the lines of his face that made Iwaizumi cave.

“Fine,” he said, stepping back and allowing Matsukawa inside. 

Matsukawa had been inside the apartment more times than either of them could recall. Still, he looked entirely out of place as he toed off his shoes and hovered near the door. His eyes kept darting to Oikawa, who sulked cross-legged in a kitchen chair, dressed in a pair of Iwaizumi’s sweatpants and a t-shirt that hung a little too big around his shoulders. 

“If you were going to invite your boyfriend over,” said Oikawa, “you could’ve at least waited until I left.”

“This is Matsukawa.”

Oikawa perked out of his pout. “Matsukawa,” he repeated. “The one who stabbed you in the back and twisted the knife. Nice to meet you, Mattsun.”

Matsukawa winced at the jab. 

“Can we have a minute?” said Iwaizumi, giving Oikawa a pointed look.

Oikawa crossed his arms. “I’m sorry, Iwa-chan, am I an inconvenience?”

“Oikawa, please. Just for a minute and then I’ll make us some food that’s actually edible.”

“So mean,” Oikawa hissed, unfolding himself from the chair. “Maybe I’ll just go home.”

Yet when he shut himself inside the bedroom with a huff, Iwaizumi distinctly heard the creak of his bedsprings as Oikawa launched himself onto the mattress.

Matsukawa watched him go with a small measure of confusion. He was probably wondering what the hell Iwaizumi was thinking letting someone like Oikawa stay with him.

Iwaizumi waved a hand toward the couch. He sat at one end and Matsukawa passively sat on the other. For a moment the silence between them was thick, nearly to the point of suffocation. Matsukawa clasped his hands in his lap, fidgeting with his fingers and refusing to look directly at Iwaizumi.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, voice low, “that I didn’t tell you.”

Iwaizumi made a _hmm_ sound but said nothing.

“I was going to, before captain did,” continued Matsukawa. “I thought I’d have more time.”

“When did you request the transfer?”

There was a beat of silence. Then, “Three weeks ago.”

Iwaizumi just stared at him, stunned. 

“I know,” Matsukawa mumbled, looking more intently at his own hands. “Sorry.”

“Why?” The single word couldn’t express the turbulence of Iwaizumi’s emotions, but it was all he could manage.

Mattsun breathed in deeply and exhaled. He seemed to deflate a little. Instead of answering directly, he said, “You told Makki, didn’t you? He called me last night and cussed me for all I was worth.”

Iwaizumi felt a shameful prickle of satisfaction. After he’d received the email he’d immediately called Hanamaki. He’d told him about the transfer while Oikawa had clung to his arm like a leech, convinced he was going to try and leave. 

Hanamaki had responded calmly to the information, but Iwaizumi knew him well enough to understand that an explosion was inevitable.

“He deserved to know,” said Iwaizumi. “He deserved that more than me. I’m your sergeant, but he’s your best friend.”

Matsukawa twitched, as if in pain. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah, I know.”

“Then why didn’t you say something?” said Iwaizumi, an edge creeping into his voice. He tried to tame it down, to keep the conversation civil. “Whatever is going on, Mattsun, we could’ve fixed it. You know Makki and I would both do anything for you. If there was a problem-”

“It’s not like that,” said Matsukawa, finally building the nerve to look at him. His heavy gaze was ashamed. “It’s nothing about the shift. Nothing about the job at all, really. It’s… a personal thing.”

There was a muffled thump from the other room. Both of them ignored it.

“What do you mean?”

Matsukawa bowed his head and pressed his palms over his face. “Fuck. I don’t even know how to say this, Iwaizumi. I mean, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I just know that I couldn’t work on the same shift anymore, no matter what happens.”

Iwaizumi’s bitterness was beginning to fade. He inched closer to Matsukawa on the couch, drawn in by his friend’s obvious pain. “What is it, Mattsun?” he asked with genuine concern. “Did something happen?”

“No.” He dropped his hands and stared at his knees. “Not really, but I… Shit. Don’t laugh at me, but I think… I think I like Hanamaki.”

Iwaizumi waited too long to respond. He was trying to process exactly what Matsukawa meant, because surely he didn’t mean…

“You _like_ him?” Iwaizumi finally managed, shellshocked. “You like Makki. You _like_ him.”

“I think so? I don’t know, Iwa, I just… I feel things, you know? Like, he’ll be talking about something stupid and I can’t stop watching the way his lips move. Or we’ll go get lunch and I’ll think about how close I can sit to him without it being weird. Or the last time we went out drinking he tripped into me and I couldn’t stop thinking about how it felt to have him touching me. Those aren’t normal friend things. Those aren’t _normal_ things.”

Iwaizumi squinted at him. “You like guys?”

“No! I mean, I don’t think I do. I never have.”

“Liar!” shouted Oikawa, his voice muffled by the bedroom door. “That was the gayest thing I’ve ever heard!”

Matsukawa looked startled, but Iwaizumi ignored him.

“If you’re into guys you could’ve mentioned it before,” said Iwaizumi flatly. “Like, I don’t know, maybe on that business trip to Yokohama when you and Makki walked in on me getting sucked off in a bathroom stall and I had to finally admit I was gay. That would’ve been a good time.”

The bedroom door was yanked open and Oikawa half fell into the room. “You _what_ ?”

This time even Matsukawa ignored him. “I’m not gay!” he insisted. “I don’t like guys. I’ve never been attracted to a guy in my life, except… I don’t know. It’s just… It’s just Hanamaki, you know? There’s just something about him. I can’t help it. It’s driving me insane.”

The lingering vestiges of Iwaizumi’s bitterness drained away. The only thing left was concern, and maybe a touch of pity. “Why didn’t you just tell him?” he said quietly. “You didn’t have to switch shifts completely because of it. You know Makki. He’s not going to treat you badly because of it.”

Oikawa shuffled over and leaned across the back of the couch, propping his chin on his folded arms to watch the exchange.

“I know that,” said Matsukawa. “It’s just… I know I’m going to have to tell him. I can’t hide it forever. And when I tell him, it’s going to make things awkward. Sure, he’s still going to be my friend. He’s not a shitty person. But it won’t be the same. I don’t want to make things uncomfortable by still being in his face every day.”

“How long have you been friends?” asked Oikawa with surprising gentleness.

“I don’t know.” Matsukawa shrugged. “Ten years? Fifteen?”

Oikawa gaped at him. “Mattsun, don’t be so stupid!” he exclaimed, as if they hadn’t just met ten minutes before. “If you’ve been friends that long then he’s fantasized about hooking up with you at least a few times.”

“He’s not into guys.”

“Well apparently neither are you,” said Oikawa, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you people. If you would fuck a guy just one time you would understand what you’re missing.”

Matsukawa’s cheeks colored, faintly. 

“When are you going to tell him?” asked Iwaizumi.

“I don’t know. I don’t know how to say it.”

“Then don’t say anything,” suggested Oikawa. “Just grab him and kiss him like you mean it.”

“Shut up, Shittykawa. That’s the worst advice I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s romantic, Iwa-chan.”

“As if you would know anything about romance.”

“Fine,” Oikawa said, turning back to Matsukawa. “You should buy him roses. A huge bundle of roses. And maybe some chocolates, because that always helps, and-”

“I don’t remember inviting you into this conversation,” snapped Iwaizumi.

“I’m trying to help.”

“You suck at it.” He looked to Matsukawa, voice softening. “Just tell him how you feel. It’s Makki. He’ll understand. Maybe he’ll feel the same way. You don’t know until you try.”

Matsukawa hid his face in his hands again. “I just don’t want to see the way he’s going to look at me.”

“Will it be any worse than how he’s going to look at you now that you’ve transferred shifts without telling him?”

Mattsun groaned.

Oikawa patted his shoulder. “There, there, Mattsun. Sexual awakenings are hard. I have some friends you can practice with first, if you’d like.”

“Oikawa, shut up!”

“I’m trying to help!”

“Either stop talking or get out of here so we can have a serious conversation!”

Oikawa glared at him but clamped his mouth shut, sinking lower over the back of the couch like he was wilting.

“I don’t know why this is happening,” said Matsukawa vaguely. “I’ve known him for years and I never considered it, not even when we were teenagers. Why is it now?”

“You’re spending too much time with Iwa-chan,” whispered Oikawa. “The gay is contagious.”

“Oikawa, I swear to god.”

Oikawa peeked up at him with a grin. “You’re cute when you’re angry, Iwa-chan.” He turned his head to address Matsukawa. “Lots of things could cause that kind of shift in a relationship,” he said sagely. “Maybe over time the attraction has gradually developed and you just started noticing. Or maybe he’s started feeling something different about you, too, and that’s changed the dynamics of your relationship.” 

Both of them stared at him, caught off-guard by the validity of the sentiment.

“Or maybe,” continued Oikawa, “you haven’t been laid in a while and you’re starting to get desperate.”

Iwaizumi physically shoved Oikawa’s upper body off of the back of the couch. His ass hit the floor and he yelped.

“The _why_ isn’t important,” said Iwaizumi, ignoring Oikawa’s high-pitched complaints. “What matters is that you feel something. You’ve got to tell him, and soon. The longer you wait the more he’s going to sit around thinking he’s part of the reason you transferred. You know he’s going to start blaming himself. That’s how he is. You need to talk to him now, Mattsun. Like literally right now. Go to his apartment and explain it to him.”

“But what am I supposed to say?” he asked, almost desperately. 

“Tell him you have feelings for him,” said Oikawa, cautiously popping his head back up. “Tell him that you’re not sure what they mean, but you’d like to find out, if he’s willing. “

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to shoot down the advice, but after a pause admitted, “That’s actually not bad.”

“That doesn’t explain why I transferred, though,” said Matsukawa. “I can’t say I was worried he’d think I was a freak.”

“Well that’s not the whole reason, is it?” said Iwaizumi. “If he rejects you then sure, it makes sense. But if he doesn’t, then you can’t work on the same shift anyway, right? Relationships between officers on the same shift are against the rules.”

Mattsun chewed on his lip and nodded. “Yeah, I mean… I thought about that, too.”

“So you’ve thought about a relationship?” said Iwaizumi. “It’s not just a sexual thing.”

“Of course not. It’s _Makki_ ,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“I want to see this guy,” said Oikawa. “Is he cute?”

“He was with me at the club,” said Iwaizumi. “The first night we met.”

Oikawa frowned and looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “I can’t remember,” he finally said with a shrug. He tossed a grin at Iwaizumi. “I was too busy looking at you, Iwa-chan. I didn’t notice anyone else.”

Iwaizumi pretended his cheeks weren’t getting a little warm. “Shut up, Trashykawa.”

“If he says no,” said Matsukawa, “I’ll just tell him I’m sorry and that I’d like to stay friends. He’s going to say no, right? He has to. There’s no way he’ll say anything else. You know how Makki is about girls.”

“You’re the same way,” said Iwaizumi. “The two of you used to have contests to see who could get the most phone numbers from girls at bars. You would make me play with you.”

“And somehow you’d always win,” said Matsukawa. “Go figure.”

“His perpetual grumpiness is somehow charming,” noted Oikawa. “I’m not sure why.”

“No matter what he says,” said Iwaizumi, “when the conversation is over, you’re still going to be his friend. You know that will never change. No matter what.”

Matsukawa sighed, but nodded. “Yeah. I guess I know that.”

“We can go with you!” suggested Oikawa. “For moral support.”

“We’re not going anywhere. It’s not our business.”

“But Iwa-chan, I want to know what happens!”

“Yeah, me too,” mumbled Matsukawa. He pushed himself off the couch, standing awkwardly for a moment before starting toward the door. “I guess I should go get it over with. If I hurry I can maybe get there before I have to puke.”

“It will be fine, Mattsun. Really.”

Matsukawa slipped into his shoes and paused by the door. “Sorry, again,” he said, “for leaving the shift. I didn’t want to. You know I like working with you guys. I hope they trade someone good.”

“Doesn’t matter who we get,” said Iwaizumi. “They won’t be as good as you.”

“So sweet,” whispered Oikawa.

Matsukawa grinned, and it only looked half forced. “Thanks, Iwaizumi. For everything. Thank you, too, Oikawa. Sort of.”

“Anytime!” said Oikawa with a wave. “I’m always here if you need advice. Iwa-chan will give you my number. Call any time.”

Matsukawa offered a parting wave and stepped out into the hallway. When he was gone Oikawa half-draped himself over Iwaizumi’s shoulders, his lips brushing his ear as he spoke. “That was so romantic, Iwa-chan. What do you think will happen?”

“I think they’ll be fine either way,” said Iwaizumi. He swiveled, pried himself away from Oikawa, and held the man at arm’s length. “Do you think it’s funny to try and interfere with my friend’s personal life?”

“I was trying to help him,” said Oikawa, feigning hurt. 

“You were making it worse.”

“Was not! I give good advice.”

“Oh yeah?” said Iwaizumi. “Then give me some. What should we do now that you’ve ruined every egg in my apartment?”

Oikawa tilted his head in thought. Then a slow smirk stretched across his face and he reached out to press a palm against Iwaizumi’s jaw. “I can think of something else I’d like to have for breakfast,” he said, the heat in his eyes leaving no confusion as to what he meant. “Something that would fill me up more than any food you have.”

Iwaizumi raised a brow and allowed Oikawa to slip closer. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm,” hummed Oikawa. “What do you think, Iwa-chan?” he said, tracing his tongue along the outside of Iwaizumi’s ear. “Let’s have breakfast in bed. You know, except without the breakfast.”

Iwaizumi tugged on Oikawa’s hair and pulled him in for a kiss.

That was answer enough. 

  
  
  
  
An hour later the phone rang. 

Iwaizumi was standing in front of the stove with a spatula, restarting breakfast after a brief delay. Oikawa was laying bonelessly across the couch, his constant banter finally giving way to silence.

Iwaizumi knew who was calling without even checking. It was what they had to say that he was anxious about.

He answered it with a cautious, “Hey, Makki.”

Oikawa popped his head over the back of the couch, revived by curiosity.

For a moment there was no response. Then, “What the fuck, Iwaizumi?”

“I don’t know what you-”

“You know exactly what I mean,” snapped Hanamaki. “You knew he was coming over here and you didn’t even warn me.”

“What happened?”

“What do you think happened?” Hanamaki was audibly on edge. “I told him to go home. What is he thinking, Iwaizumi? What the actual _fuck_?”

Iwaizumi was a little taken aback by the heat in his voice. He’d expected confusion, and maybe a little discomfort, but he hadn’t foreseen the anger. “Makki, calm down. I think you’re-”

“If you say _overreacting_ I’m going to come over there right now and beat your ass,” hissed Hanamaki. “I’m not overreacting. How could he _do_ this?”

Oikawa rolled to his feet and padded into the kitchen, gesturing urgently. Iwaizumi put the phone on speaker, placed it on the counter, and pressed a shushing finger to his own lips, instructing Oikawa to keep quiet. 

“He told you how he feels,” said Iwaizumi. “What’s so awful about that?”

“He’s not supposed to feel that way!” said Hanamaki, his voice blaring in the small kitchen. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him! At first I thought he was just kidding because he didn’t want to tell me the real reason he transferred shifts, but… fuck, he was serious, Iwa. He was _serious_.”

“I know,” said Iwaizumi calmly. He reached over to turn off the stove. He couldn’t concentrate on breakfast and his friend’s personal crisis at the same time. “That’s not a bad thing, Makki.”

“Yes it is!” He was nearly shouting. “It’s the worst! I don’t know how he could do this to me. He’s my _best friend_. We’ve been best friends since we were kids, and now…” He trailed off. The silence lingered, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, a little choked. “He’s ruining it. He’s ruining everything.”

“That’s not true,” said Iwaizumi. “Nothing’s changed, Makki. He’s still your friend. It’s not like Mattsun’s a different person now.”

Oikawa crept closer. He pried the spatula from Iwaizumi’s hand; he hadn’t realized he’d been gripping it so hard. The flimsy plastic was replaced with Oikawa’s fingers as he leaned against Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

“Everything’s different now.” Hanamaki’s voice sounded a little muffled. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. At least he’s not on the shift anymore. That makes it easier.”

Iwaizumi felt his hand tighten; Oikawa squeezed back.

“Stop it, Makki. Do you understand how hard it was for Mattsun to confess to you? Don’t be this way. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“I don’t know how else to be,” said Hanamaki. The words were hard, but they wavered slightly. “I can’t deal with this, Iwa. I just can’t.”

“You’re such a-”

Iwaizumi slapped a hand over Oikawa’s mouth before he could continue. Oikawa glared at him and licked the palm of his hand. Iwaizumi cringed but didn’t move.

“Who was that?” said Hanamaki.

“Sorry, it’s Oikawa,” said Iwaizumi. “He was just complaining, as usual.”

Oikawa maneuvered enough to nip at Iwaizumi’s finger. He pulled back with a hiss.

“Oh,” said Hanamaki. He was quiet for a moment. “Iwaizumi, listen. You know I’m happy for you, right? I’m glad things are working out. I don’t want you to take this the wrong way with Mattsun. It’s not that I have something against guys who like guys, you know? It’s just… it’s not me. I’m not like that.”

Oikawa looked like he wanted to speak again. Iwaizumi shook his head.

“And that’s fine, Makki,” said Iwaizumi. “You don’t have to be. But I think you’re looking at this the wrong way. It’s not like a random guy decided he has a thing for you. Your _best friend_ thinks he’s developed feelings for you. That’s what matters. Not whether or not he’s a guy.”

“Doesn’t change anything,” mumbled Hanamaki. “I can’t deal with this.”

“That’s fine. Just don’t shut him out, Makki. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“I don’t know what else to do.” Now Hanamaki’s voice dropped, so low that it was hardly audible. “I need to go. I’ll see you Monday, Iwaizumi.”

He ended the call without waiting for a reply.

“What an _asshole_ ,” said Oikawa, his glare focused on Iwaizumi’s cell. “Who does he think he is?”

“He just doesn’t know how to handle it,” said Iwaizumi. He tried to ignore the part of him that desperately agreed with Oikawa. “He’ll come around. I think their friendship will survive, with time.”

“Fuck their friendship. He doesn’t deserve a friend like Mattsun.” He folded his arms and frowned at Iwaizumi. “And he definitely doesn’t deserve a friend like you. He’s a jerk, Iwa-chan. Break up with him.”

“What?”

“You know, like a friendship break up,” Oikawa explained. “You have to pick a side.”

“This isn’t a war. I’m not choosing a side.”

“But what about Mattsun!”

“He’ll be fine,” said Iwaizumi. The words sounded more confident than he felt. If any other two individuals had been in this same situation he wouldn’t have been concerned, but Makki and Mattsun were different. Iwaizumi had worked with them for years. They’d been inseparable since he’d known them, and for nearly a decade before that. He didn’t know exactly how they would exist without each other. 

Oikawa grumbled something under his breath. He wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi’s waist and buried his face in his neck. “Mattsun is probably sad.”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi pulled Oikawa closer, basking in his warmth. “I’ll call him. We’ll go out tonight to try and get his mind off of it. It won’t do him any good to sit at home and sulk.”

“Bring him to Shiratorizawa,” said Oikawa, his lips moving against Iwaizumi’s neck. “I’ll get him free drinks.”

There were more than a couple of reasons that Iwaizumi would have preferred to avoid the Swan Club, but it wasn’t worth the disagreement. This was for Matsukawa, not him, and Mattsun liked Shiratorizawa. He’d been the one who had proposed to take Iwaizumi there in celebration of his promotion. 

He pressed a kiss against Oikawa’s jaw. “Sure, that sounds good.”

He felt Oikawa’s smile against his skin. “Okay, Iwa-chan.”

“Now let go of me so I can call him.”

“Two more minutes,” said Oikawa, pressing into him even closer.

Ten minutes later, Iwaizumi called Matsukawa and coaxed him into a night out. 

If he’d known what would happen at Shiratorizawa that night, he would have recommended they all stay home.


	10. Chapter 10

Matsukawa didn’t look upset, but that was one thing about Mattsun. His expression remained largely unchanged unless he was placed under extreme stress.

He and Iwaizumi sat at the bar amid a sea of alcohol fumes and loud music and enthusiastic club-goers. 

Matsukawa had taken four shots and appeared largely unaffected, but that was another thing about Mattsun. He seemed completely fine one moment, and then the next the alcohol hit him like a freight train and he needed someone to hold his hand so he wouldn’t wander out in front of a moving vehicle.

That someone was supposed to be Hanamaki.

Matsukawa hadn’t said anything about the painful absence of his best friend, nor had Iwaizumi asked any prying questions about the confession. It was clear it hadn’t gone well, and there wasn’t much to say beyond that. Both of them needed time. Hanamaki needed time to come to terms with his friend’s feelings, and Matsukawa needed time to get over said feelings. 

Iwaizumi hoped that the necessary time would be fairly short. Matsukawa’s transfer would prevent the tension from bleeding over into work, but Iwaizumi’s personal life was largely affected.

Before he’d met Oikawa, Makki and Mattsun had been the only people he’d spent any quality time with. It felt unnatural to be around one of them without the other.

“You want something else or you want to slow down?” asked Iwaizumi loudly, leaning close to be heard over the rumbling beat of the music. They were side-by-side at the bar, in nearly the same stools they’d occupied on their first visit. 

Matsukawa pondered the empty shot glass in his hand. “One more,” he decided, “then I’ll take a break. I won’t make you carry me out of here.”

Iwaizumi nodded. He was probably physically capable of carrying Mattsun out of the club, but there was no way he could make it all the way back to his apartment.

He waved down the nearest bartender, which fortunately happened to be Shirabu. 

Semi was at the other end of the bar and hadn’t spared Iwaizumi more than a passing glance since he’d arrived.

“Another shot?” asked Shirabu, already reaching for Matsukawa’s empty glass.

“Yeah, thanks,” said Iwaizumi. “And go ahead and make one of those nasty ass drinks Oikawa likes. He’ll probably want one in a few.”

Shirabu smirked. “One _little bitch_ , extra sugar. Coming right up.”

Iwaizumi thanked him and swiveled on his stool to face the dance floor. 

The club was busy, but not quite as packed as it would have been the day before. The Sunday crowd was a little more sober, a little more contained. The clutter was thin enough that Iwaizumi had a perfect view of Oikawa spinning and twisting and twirling on the dance floor. His hips dipped in perfect rhythm with the beat of the bass and rolled in sync with the upbeat. He looked as good as the day Iwaizumi had first met him; better, even, since he knew that at the end of the night Oikawa would be _his_. 

Oikawa tossed his head and caught Iwaizumi watching him. He smiled, a seductive curl of his lips, and dragged his hands down his chest with a wink.

It was an invitation, one that he knew Iwaizumi couldn’t take. He was there for Mattsun, not Oikawa. He wasn’t going to allow his time to be monopolized by Oikawa when his friend needed him.

Also, earlier that night Iwaizumi had caught a glimpse of a distinctive blond mohawk that indicated Detective Yamamoto was on duty in the club. He was not going to slip up in front of Yamamoto. News of his indiscretions would travel so fast that the entire police department would know by the following morning.

Instead, Iwaizumi contented himself with watching, nursing the low flame settled in his stomach that flared every time Oikawa met his eyes across the distance.

“I don’t get it,” said Matsukawa. He’d leaned close, the words spoken almost directly into Iwaizumi’s ear. The shot glass in his hand was empty again. 

“Don’t get what?”

Mattsun gestured vaguely toward the dance floor. “Everything. I mean, Oikawa. He’s good-looking, right?”

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure where the conversation was going. “Yeah, he is.”

“Like, _really_ good-looking?”

“Well, yeah,” said Iwaizumi, his eyebrows creeping up his forehead. “So much that I’m not quite sure why he’s even interested in me.”

Matsukawa was still staring across the room, pensive. “I don’t see it,” he said. “Like, I don’t look at him and think, wow, I’d like to hit that. You know what I mean?”

“No. I really don’t.”

Mattsun sighed and tried again. “I’m not attracted to guys. Not even really good-looking guys. I never have been in my entire life.” His head dipped down, gaze landing somewhere on the floor. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Iwaizumi. I fucked up.”

Iwaizumi diverted his attention from Oikawa. “You didn’t fuck up. You can’t help how you feel.”

“But I shouldn’t feel that way!” he said, a small flare of heat behind the words. “It’s not me. I don’t _like_ guys!”

He said it a little too loudly. The woman sitting at the stool on his left side turned to look at them.

Iwaizumi rested a hand on Matsukawa’s shoulder and spoke a little lower, hoping it would encourage his friend to do the same. “It’s not all black and white, Mattsun. You don’t just like all guys or all girls or all people. There are shades of gray, too. Maybe Hanamaki’s the only guy you’ll _ever_ like. I don’t know enough about this to give you a lecture on sexuality, but I do know there’s nothing wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with how you feel. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Matsukawa’s lips flattened into a straight line. “It sure feels like it.”

“Here.” The voice was brusque, almost rude. 

Iwaizumi turned to find Semi sliding an almost neon drink across the counter. 

“Shirabu got busy,” said Semi flatly. “Don’t tell Oikawa I made this or he’ll bitch about it.” He turned on his heel without another word.

“Semi, wait!” called Iwaizumi, leaning on the counter. 

Semi paused, sliding a scalding glare over his shoulder.

“I never said anything,” started Iwaizumi, “about you and Shirabu. I’m not the one who told the detective you were fighting. It’s not my business.”

It was a waste of time for him to try and make amends. Semi was the one in the wrong. He’d leaked lies to Oikawa and convinced him that Iwaizumi was using him. Iwaizumi owed him nothing.

Still, everyone who worked at this club was, in some way, connected to Oikawa. Even if they were all just acquaintances, Iwaizumi wanted no tension to exist between them. 

He also didn’t want any animosity to exist between anyone who could potentially spill the nature of his and Oikawa’s relationship if more detectives came sniffing around.

“I don’t care,” said Semi. “If you need something else ask Shirabu.”

With that he walked away, leaving Iwaizumi frowning after him.

“What was that about?” asked Matsukawa. 

Iwaizumi shook his head. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

He reached for the fruity drink and held it aloft until Oikawa’s eyes latched onto the offering. A moment later he’d woven through the crowd and taken the drink from Iwaizumi with a less-than-subtle brush of his fingers. 

“Thanks, Iwa-chan,” he said, the words purred between curved lips. He hopped onto the stool beside Iwaizumi and scooted a little closer. He lowered his voice and said, “I saw you watching me. If you’re not careful I might think you’re interested.”

Iwaizumi eyed him. “So what if I am?”

“Then I know a nice quiet place we can go. I’ll give you a private dance.”

“If the two of you are going to flirt like that,” said Matsukawa, “I’m going to need more alcohol.”

Iwaizumi felt his cheeks burn, but Oikawa just laughed.

They sat at the bar for a while. Oikawa flicked the tiny umbrella from his drink at Iwaizumi, but missed and hit Matsukawa instead. Mattsun arranged it proudly in his hair like a barrette and laughed for the first time that night.

Iwaizumi made Mattsun drink a glass of water to try and spare him some misery the following morning. Luckily Matsukawa’s new schedule allowed him to sleep in.

Iwaizumi wasn’t so lucky, but he was willing to make the sacrifice.

“He’s a good dancer,” Matsukawa commented a while later, the words slurring together a little. He was still surprisingly comprehensible considering the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. “He’s like… like _smoke_. I need a cigarette.”

Iwaizumi looked away from Oikawa’s ass. “We can step outside for a minute. I could use some fresh air anyway. Stand up slow. If you fall I’m not helping you up.”

They both knew it was a lie, but Mattsun was careful, anyway.

Iwaizumi gestured to Oikawa, trying to communicate where they were going.

The two of them didn’t make it to the door.

At first Iwaizumi didn’t realize someone was screaming. It was muted by the music, almost a perfect echo of the distorted vocals.

But it continued, piercing and desperate, and Iwaizumi belatedly recognized the sound.

It sent spikes of ice into his spine and he stiffened, scanning the interior of the club with practiced eyes, seeking the source.

A wide-eyed woman on the dance floor was clutching at her hair, mouth open in a perfect O, screaming so hard that her voice was giving out.

Iwaizumi couldn’t see what the problem was from his position. He seized a chair and hopped up, searching. 

The dancing had stopped. Everyone in the vicinity had frozen, staring down at the woman who’d collapsed in the middle of the floor.

It was possible that she’d drank too much and passed out. It happened, and it was the most viable explanation.

But she was too still. 

She looked like a corpse.

Iwaizumi leapt from the chair and started running.

He had to shove several people out of his way to reach the woman. She was lying on her back, arms spread in a wide T, eyes glazed over. He pressed his fingers to her neck, seeking a pulse. 

There was nothing there.

Her lips were tinged blue.

“Fuck,” he spat, the word like fire on his tongue. “Not again, _fuck_.”

He needed to call dispatch, but there wasn’t time. He tipped the girl’s chin back, cleared her airway, and started chest compressions. 

The last victim had died, but he could save this one.

He had to save this one.

“I don’t know what happened,” sobbed a blonde woman who barely looked old enough to be allowed inside the club. “She was fine. Everything was fine.”

“Did she take anything?” asked Iwaizumi, silently counting the passing seconds. 

“I don’t know! She went to the bathroom and then came back and then she just – just –” She burst into sobs, rendering further conversation impossible.

Iwaizumi paused, hands hovering over the girl’s chest, and looked over his shoulder.

Matsukawa met his eyes. Unspoken instructions passed between them, built on years of familiarity. Without a word, Mattsun turned to stumble through the crowd, headed toward the bathrooms.

Iwaizumi started chest compressions again, looking around wildly as he did so.

The gravity of the situation had spread. The perpetual dimness of the club was lifted, overhead lights brightening at the same time that the volume of the music was cut. In the sudden absence of sound Iwaizumi heard his own heavy breath echoing in his ears. 

He was breathing, but the girl still wasn’t.

“Oikawa!” he shouted, his voice deafening in the hush. “Call dispatch. Tell them to get a medic here _now_.”

He didn’t look up. He trusted the instructions would be heard and followed.

He paused again and pressed two fingers against the girl’s neck. 

Still nothing.

Someone dropped to their knees on the girl’s other side. It took Iwaizumi a second too long to recognize Tendou.

“Can I help?” he asked, wild eyes transfixed on the girl, whose lips were darkening. “I know CPR.”

“Yeah, take over,” said Iwaizumi. He sat back on his heels, heart racing with adrenaline.

Tendou stacked his palms over the girl’s chest, took a steadying breath, and started pumping. Iwaizumi watched for a moment to make sure he knew what he was doing. Then he searched the gawking crowd for Oikawa. 

He was hovering nearby, cellphone pressed against his ear. His eyes were too wide. He looked like he was about to panic. 

Iwaizumi stood and snatched the phone out of his hand.

The woman on the other end was halfway through a question that Iwaizumi didn’t care to answer.

“Dispatch, this is 202. I need an ambulance to Shiratorizawa _immediately_. Priority one. Unresponsive female, early twenties, possible drug overdose. Tell them to move their ass or we’re going to lose her.”

“Ten-four, 202. Medic ETA three minutes. 402 should be arriving now.”

Iwaizumi ended the call and pressed the phone back into Oikawa’s hand. 

“Go sit down,” he said, giving Oikawa a shove between his shoulder blades. “You look pale.”

It was a testament to how rattled Oikawa was that he didn’t even argue.

Iwaizumi crouched down next to the girl again. “Thanks, Tendou. You’re doing great.”

Tendou managed a grin. “I practiced on a dummy once.”

Iwaizumi lifted the girl’s limp arm and squeezed his fingers over her clammy wrist. There was a bare flutter of a pulse, in perfect rhythm with Tendou’s compressions. 

He skimmed his fingers up the inside of her forearm, stopping just below the crook of her elbow. 

There were track marks there, and they were fresh. A bead of recently dried blood was smeared on bruised skin. 

Kuroo had been right. This was getting out of hand.

Matsukawa returned from the bathroom. His steps were steady, as if the pressure of the situation had sobered him. A trash bag swung from his hand. He answered Iwaizumi’s unspoken question. “Got a syringe and some residue,” he said. “There’s blood on the needle. Someone shot up in there.”

Iwaizumi nodded. “Take it outside. We’ll hand it over to the officers on duty after the girl gets picked up. Be careful with that, the syringe could puncture the bag.”

Matsukawa nodded and headed toward the door, carrying the trash bag with extreme caution. As he stepped out, a uniformed officer stepped in, and Iwaizumi was relieved to recognize Sergeant Sawamura of shift 4.

“Thank god,” he mumbled under his breath. 

It took less than a minute for Iwaizumi to inform Sawamura of the situation. By the time he was finished, a pair of medics rushed inside. Tendou backed away and they took over, intubating the woman and pumping oxygen directly into her lungs.

She might not make it, but she at least had a better chance than the others.

Iwaizumi, freed from the burden of guarding the woman, turned away to take a breath. His eyes fell on the bar; more specifically, the two men tending it.

Shirabu’s palms were pressed against the counter. He leaned forward, fixated on the grisly scene, expression washed with concern.

Beside him stood Semi, his arms folded and his face completely closed off. 

The onlookers shifted and blocked Iwaizumi’s view, but he’d seen enough.

Sawamura talked into his radio. “405, meet with Officer Matsukawa outside. He has evidence to be collected and catalogued. 408, come inside and help me interview the witnesses.”

He waited for a confirmation before addressing Iwaizumi. “Thanks, sergeant,” he said. “Sorry you had to deal with something like this on your day off.”

“It’s not a problem,” said Iwaizumi. “I’m glad I was here.”

“Lucky for her,” said Sawamura, nodding at the girl that was being lifted onto a waiting stretcher. “If she makes it then it’ll be because of you. If not… well, at least you tried.”

Iwaizumi nodded. He tried not to think of the other dead girl that he’d been unable to save. That reminded him of Oikawa and he looked around, failing to pick him out of the crowd.

He did, however, see Ushijima approaching, his stern gaze taking in the scene with practiced detachment.

“Iwaizumi,” he stated, inflectionless. 

“Ushijima.”

“What happened?”

Sawamura answered for him, and Iwaizumi was grateful. He left them to the conversation and wandered away to find Oikawa.

He was at the far end of the bar, sitting just as Iwaizumi had instructed. He was still too pale, but otherwise appeared fine.

He looked up as Iwaizumi approached and tried to force a smile. It looked like a grimace.

“Iwa-chan,” he said quietly. 

Iwaizumi sat beside him. He went to put his arm around him, remembered he was in public, and then did it anyway. Oikawa’s shoulders shook slightly beneath his arm. Iwaizumi pulled him closer. 

“Everything’s fine,” he said. 

“Is she going to die?” whispered Oikawa.

Iwaizumi wanted to lie, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “We got to her faster than the others. She has a better chance.”

Oikawa slumped into Iwaizumi’s side. They sat there for a long moment, unnoticed. 

Detective Yamamoto emerged onto the scene in a whirl of confusion. Apparently he’d stepped outside and had missed the entire ordeal.

Kuroo wouldn’t be pleased.

“Shit,” murmured Iwaizumi, detaching himself from Oikawa. “I need to call Kuroo.”

Oikawa made a small sound but said nothing. 

Kuroo answered after the first ring. Iwaizumi gave him a fifteen-second overview of the situation before Kuroo hung up, stating that he was on his way. The entire debacle was a nightmare, and Iwaizumi had no idea when it was going to end.

There could be another victim in a week, or a day, or even an hour. The incidents were blurring more closely together, increasing in fatal frequency.

Something had to be done.

“I want to go home,” said Oikawa quietly.

“You can’t yet,” said Iwaizumi, not unkindly. “They’ll want to talk to you in case you saw anything.”

“But I don’t want to talk to them.”

“You have to do it anyway. They’re the police.”

Another officer bustled through the door. He was notably short and had a shock of orange hair. Iwaizumi had seen him a couple of times, but not often enough to place his name. He was one of the newer hires. 

He expected Oikawa to argue further, but when he spoke again there were no further complaints. “When we’re finished can I go home with you, Iwa-chan?”

“If you want. I have to be up early for work tomorrow though.”

“What time?”

“Four.”

Oikawa groaned and slumped sideways, head lolling onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “That’s unnatural, Iwa-chan,” he said, a trace of his typical attitude creeping into his voice. “How can you live like this?”

“I drink a lot of coffee.” He brushed the hair off of Oikawa’s forehead and looked back toward the crowd to find Ushijima watching the pair of them.

His shoulders must have stiffened. Oikawa sat up with a frown before following his gaze.

“Don’t mind Ushiwaka,” he said. “He’s rude but he’s harmless.”

The cold look in Ushijima’s eyes didn’t align with that statement.

“Are you sure you don’t have some kind of history with him?” asked Iwaizumi. 

Oikawa snorted. “I’m sure, Iwa-chan. Tall, dark, and angry isn’t my type.” He nudged an elbow into Iwaizumi’s side. “Luckily you’re _short_ , dark, and angry, which is just perfect.”

“Shut up, Shittykawa.”

They had a few moments of peace before the young officer bounced over to them and snapped a salute.

“Sergeant Iwaizumi, sir!” he said, too loudly. “Sergeant Daichi-san told me to come ask him some questions.” He pointed to Oikawa, then blinked. “Unless you’re already doing that, sergeant, sir!”

Iwaizumi eyed the boy’s nametag. “It’s fine, Hinata-kun. Go ahead and talk to him.” He ignored Oikawa’s pleading stare. “I’m going to step outside for a few. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Yes! Thank you, sergeant, sir!”

Iwaizumi left Oikawa in Hinata’s overly eager clutches. When he stepped outside, he spotted Matsukawa easily. He stood beside a parked police cruiser, his face aglow with the coruscating blue lights. 

The purpose of the outing had been to get Matsukawa’s mind off of Hanamaki.

They’d managed it, although Iwaizumi would have preferred to have gone about it differently.

Iwaizumi caught a whiff of smoke as he approached. A cigarette was grasped loosely in Matsukawa’s hand, ashes trickling to the sidewalk.

Iwaizumi stepped up and plucked it from Mattsun’s fingers, sucking in a lung full of nicotine before handing it back.

Matsukawa took it without comment. The officer he was speaking to eyed Iwaizumi with something resembling awe.

“This is Kageyama,” said Matsukawa, puffing on the cigarette. “This morning he found out he’s the one trading shifts with me. He’ll be on Shift 2 starting on Tuesday.”

Iwaizumi looked at the young officer again, more closely. He extended a hand. “Officer Kageyama,” he said. “It’ll be a pleasure to have you.”

Kageyama shook his hand eagerly, though his face remained stoic. “Thank you, Sergeant Iwaizumi-san. I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I expect.”

“Matsukawa-san spoke highly of you,” said Kageyama, his eyes cutting to Mattsun. “I look forward to working with you, sir.”

Matsukawa smiled a little, but there was no pleasure in it. Iwaizumi commandeered his cigarette again, and this time he didn’t give it back.

Another police cruiser joined the fray. This one was unmarked, and Iwaizumi wouldn’t have recognized it as a police vehicle if he hadn’t seen it hundreds of times before.

Kuroo hopped out, looking more unkempt than usual.

He started toward the door, but did a double-take toward Iwaizumi and diverted his course.

Up close, Kuroo looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

“Iwaizumi,” he said, taking in the small group with a sweep of tired eyes. “I didn’t know you smoke.”

“I don’t,” said Iwaizumi. He took a last drag of the cigarette before dropping it and grinding it beneath his shoe. 

Kuroo didn’t question him. “Thanks for calling. Apparently my own damn detective can’t even tell me when something happens. He still hasn’t contacted me. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing.”

“He’s inside,” said Iwaizumi. “Don’t be too hard on him.”

Kuroo scoffed. “Yeah, sure. So what’s the verdict? Do they think she’s going to make it?”

Iwaizumi looked to Kageyama, who looked startled by the attention.

“The medics didn’t know,” he said. “They said they’ll do their best.”

Kuroo sighed and shook his head. “I’m sick of this shit. We need to fix this _now_. You work tomorrow, Iwaizumi?”

“Bright and early.”

“Good. You’re with me tomorrow, sergeant. I’ll get a couple of my guys to help with patrols so you won’t be short-handed. I’m going to need your help.”

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure exactly what Kuroo expected of him, but he wasn’t going to turn him down. He was tired of dealing with this, too. He was tired of drug cases and tired of people suffering. Whatever he needed to do, he would do it. “Anything you need, captain. I’m all yours.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have legitimately wanted to post this chapter since I started this fic. This is (hopefully) where it gets interesting. 
> 
> Also, have I mentioned how much I appreciate all of you for reading this every week? Because I really do. You guys are the best.

By the time Iwaizumi left the club, went home, and finally coaxed himself into falling asleep, he managed a total of three and a half hours in bed before he had to get back up for work.

It was actually fortunate that Oikawa had decided against staying with him for the night. Iwaizumi probably would have gotten even less sleep and likely wouldn’t have been able to function with any degree of coherence.

He stepped into the patrol room at exactly five o’clock, a large black coffee in hand. The rest of the shift was already there, looking only slightly less tired than he felt.

Hanamaki sat in the back of the room, pointedly looking anywhere but at Iwaizumi.

“Matsukawa is late again,” mumbled Kunimi. 

“You’re late at least eighty percent of the time,” said Kindaichi. “Don’t call out other people for something you do.”

“Mattsun isn’t coming,” said Iwaizumi. “He transferred to shift 4. Our new officer starts in the morning.”

There was a heavy silence. Then everyone simultaneously turned to look at Hanamaki.

“What?” snapped Makki, with a ferocity that was unnatural. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t know what his problem is.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Iwaizumi told them. “I’ll cover his zone for today. Hit the road, guys. I’ll check us in with dispatch.”

Chairs scraped against the floor. Hanamaki was the first one out the door, not sparing a glance for any of them.

Iwaizumi knew he didn’t look so great, but Makki looked like shit.

He had a pretty good guess why.

Iwaizumi spent the early hours of the morning driving aimlessly about the streets of zone 4, which had been Matsukawa’s assigned area. He wondered which zone Kageyama was currently responsible for. Hopefully he was familiar enough with the area to not need extra guidance.

Kageyama seemed like a decent guy, but he wouldn’t be as good as Matsukawa. Iwaizumi was certain that no one would ever be as good as Matsukawa.

There were no incidents and no calls. The biggest struggle of the morning was trying not to fall asleep at the wheel.

At about nine o’clock Kuroo called and requested his presence in investigations. He informed Hanamaki and Kyoutani that they needed to expand their patrol areas to include zone 4 before going to meet with the captain.

As soon as Iwaizumi saw him, he was absolutely certain that Kuroo hadn’t slept at all.

“Hey, come on in,” said Kuroo, barely looking up as Iwaizumi paused in the doorway.

Sometime during the night a tornado had torn through Kuroo’s office. There were stacks of askew papers on every visible surface, intermixed with the occasional spreadsheet or printed photograph. A precarious tower of files perched in the floor against the left wall, and as Iwaizumi watched, one of them slipped off the stack and slapped against the floor. On Kuroo’s desk an explosion of files was arranged in haphazard order. Kuroo leaned over them, tracing along pages with a finger, a coffee mug pressed against his lips.

Kuroo had never been meticulously neat, but he wasn’t a slob, either.

“Are you alright?” asked Iwaizumi, creeping into the disorder with a measure of caution.

“Yeah, I’m great,” said Kuroo unconvincingly. The shadows beneath his eyes were so dark that he looked ten years older. “I bribed someone at the lab to get the results back from the past two victims. They figured out what killed them.”

Iwaizumi’s interest spiked. “What was it?”

Kuroo fished around in the mess and unearthed a lab report. “Both of the victims took benzodiazepines in addition to the new drug. The first was on Xanax, the second Valium. Apparently the composition of the new drug makes you experience the sensation of a stimulant, but it affects the body like a depressant. It reacted badly with the benzos and slowed their bodies down so much that they came to a standstill. There’s more technical information in the report. It’s not my specialty so that’s the best I can explain it.”

“So they died because they were already dosed with something else,” said Iwaizumi, glancing over the report. 

“Exactly. If they’d only taken the new drug they probably wouldn’t have died.” Kuroo grinned, and the expression was almost manic.

“Did you sleep?” asked Iwaizumi bluntly. He was mildly concerned for the captain’s sanity.

“Not really. I’ve been up doing background checks on the Shiratorizawa employees all night.” With that he dived back into the fray. “Come look at this.”

Iwaizumi did so, still wary of Kuroo’s phantom energy.

“They all came back clean,” said Kuroo, shuffling through the mess, “except three.” He slid a few files free and offered them to Iwaizumi. “The first-” he tapped the foremost file “-is Kawanishi Taichi. He had a juvenile record, but it’s sealed so tightly that even I couldn’t get into it. That was back when he was fifteen, though, and he hasn’t had any issues since, so he’s probably good.” 

Iwaizumi glanced at the file and then flipped to the next.

“Tendou Satori,” said Kuroo, as Iwaizumi eyed a mugshot of the redhead. “Some minor drinking charges, a couple of disorderly conducts, and a marijuana possession. Pretty standard. He hasn’t been arrested since he started working at the Swan Club six years ago.”

Iwaizumi discarded that file as well. The one remaining was notably thicker.

“But now,” said Kuroo, tapping the file. “We’re getting somewhere.”

Iwaizumi flipped it open and found a black and white mugshot staring back. It took him a moment to recognize Semi. He could almost believe it was a different person. Semi’s hair was black, his face was too thin, and his upper lip was curled in a defiant snarl. A jagged cut sliced through his right eyebrow; blood had dripped down to the corner of his eye.

“Semi Eita,” said Kuroo, looking over Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “He’s never been arrested in Tokyo, but he was a big deal in Osaka a few years back. What do you think he did? I’ll give you three guesses.”

Iwaizumi didn’t need them. “Drugs.”

“Bingo.” Kuroo took the file and thumbed through the pages. “His criminal history is impressive. He started when he was nineteen. At first he just got picked up on a couple of minor possession charges. A few years later it started getting more serious, and when he was twenty-four he got busted as one of the main guys in that big Osaka drug ring. He did some time but got released early and moved to Tokyo three years ago.”

Iwaizumi remembered Semi’s face from the night before, the way he looked while a girl was possibly dying on the floor of the bar.

He’d looked unaffected, detached.

He’d looked like he’d seen and done so much worse.

“Shit,” said Iwaizumi, trying to express his shock in the single word.

“Yeah,” Kuroo agreed. “I knew I got a vibe from him. He laid low for a while, but old habits are hard to break. He has to be the one distributing the drug. Hell, he’s probably making it himself. He’s more than capable. It makes sense, too, why no one’s snitched on him yet. It wouldn’t be hard for him to scare people into keeping his secrets. After what he’s done, he probably intimidates the shit out of them.”

“What are you going to do?” said Iwaizumi. “This isn’t enough for an arrest. It’s all circumstantial.”

“I need to talk to him again,” said Kuroo. “I’m going to bring him back in for questioning. When I talked to Ushijima last night he gave me contact info for all the employees on shift, so I could check in with them if I had questions. I’m going to give him a call and get him in here.”

“Then what?”

“Then I’m going to dig a confession out of him,” concluded Kuroo. He snapped the file shut, his hair fluttering in the burst of air. “I’ll need you to witness the interrogation, just as a precaution.”

Iwaizumi wasn’t so sure that he wanted to be involved in this. He was fairly certain it was a conflict of interest, at least to a small degree. 

But he’d told Kuroo he was with him. And in the end, figuring out where the drugs were coming from and how to eliminate them was what really mattered. If Semi was the source, Iwaizumi was willing to do what was necessary.

“I need to let Captain Mizoguchi know we’re shorthanded,” said Iwaizumi, reaching for his phone. “He’ll have to cover for me.”

“No, don’t bother,” said Kuroo, waving him off. “I’ll get Kai and Fukunaga to run patrols. If any calls come in they can help out. They were both good patrol officers before I made them detectives. They can handle it.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” Kuroo slapped the file against the edge of the desk and grinned. “Let’s get this bastard in here and solve this case.”

  
  
  
  
Kuroo was so confident about Semi’s involvement in the drug incidents that Iwaizumi started to believe that the entire thing would be over quickly. Kuroo would wring a confession out of him, the admission would be enough for a conviction, and once he was in prison the drug would disappear off of the streets. 

If Iwaizumi had considered the situation objectively, he would’ve known it was never that easy.

An hour later Iwaizumi stood behind the one-way glass, arms folded as he watched the exchange beyond with intense concentration.

Kuroo was in one of the interrogation rooms, sitting across the table from Semi, who was clearly less than pleased to be there.

In fact, he was quickly becoming outraged.

“So let me get this straight,” said Semi. His voice was rough, like metal against asphalt. He scowled down at the mugshot of himself that Kuroo had placed in front of him. “Not only do you call me in for questioning before noon, when I didn’t even leave work until four this morning. But the _reason_ for this session is that you spent your valuable time digging into my past, even though I’ve done literally nothing wrong.”

“I investigated everyone,” said Kuroo levelly. “You weren’t singled out.”

“Then where is everyone else?”

“Let me rephrase that,” said Kuroo. He leaned back in his chair, affecting an air of nonchalance. “You weren’t singled out until I got everyone’s background history. That changed things.”

Semi pushed the photo back across the table, as if it disgusted him. Iwaizumi noticed the pale ghost of a scar cutting through Semi’s eyebrow, reflecting the injury visible in the mugshot. He wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t specifically looked.

“I did my time,” said Semi, “and then I moved on. You can’t pin anything on me just because of my past.”

“That’s true,” Kuroo agreed. “You’re not going to be punished for old crimes. Only the new ones. But what I’m most curious about is where you’re getting this drug. Are you importing it from some of your old buddies in Osaka? Or are you making it yourself? According to the file, you tried your hand at manufacturing for a while.”

Semi’s glare was unchanged. “I haven’t done shit.”

“You picked a good career for selling, though,” said Kuroo, undeterred. “Bartending gives you access to a lot of people. It must be easy, just slipping it across the counter or maybe even mixing it in a drink. When money changes hands no one would bat an eye. You’re good at this, I’ll give you that.”

Semi’s jaw tightened. The tendons in his forearms flexed as his fingers curled into his palms. He slid his hands between his knees and kept them there, as if afraid of what they would do if they remained free. 

“I haven’t done anything,” he said, the words sliding through gritted teeth. “If I was going to sell, it wouldn’t be at the club.”

Kuroo raised a brow. “So you admit you are selling outside of work, then?”

“Fuck off. I haven’t admitted anything, and I won’t. Because there’s nothing to admit.”

“Look, I can’t say I blame you,” said Kuroo. His voice softened as he switched tactics. “You had to pull a few years in prison, and before that you were caught up in the drug ring, which was almost as bad. It’s hard getting away from all that. I understand. It’s easy to fall back into the old ways.”

“Fuck you,” spat Semi. His upper lip curled a little, the expression reminiscent of his mugshot. “Don’t pretend you know anything about me. I’m not like that anymore and I am _not_ going back to prison.”

Kuroo tilted his head slightly, unbothered by the outburst. “Does Ushijima know?” he asked. “Does he know what kind of person has been working for him?”

Semi stood so abruptly that his chair toppled. It hit the floor with a metallic crash. “We’re done,” he snapped. “You can’t keep me here unless you arrest me, and you don’t have enough evidence to arrest me. Don’t fucking call me again.”

He kicked the chair out of his way and reached for the door.

“You’re just making this worse for yourself,” said Kuroo. He hadn’t moved. “If you work with me I can help you.”

Semi wrenched the door open and slid a glare over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Right before they threw me in prison.”

He stormed into the hallway and slammed the door behind him. 

Iwaizumi watched the back of Kuroo’s head for a moment until the captain finally rose. He grabbed the file off of the table, picked up the discarded chair, and exited into the hallway.

Iwaizumi was there to meet him. “That didn’t go so well.”

Kuroo shrugged. “About as well as expected. He wouldn’t have been that pissed if he wasn’t involved. We just need to pin this on him somehow. We have to find _something_.” He drummed his fingers against Semi’s file as they walked in the direction of Kuroo’s office. “Hey, didn’t you say you know someone who’s friends with Semi? What was his name again?”

Iwaizumi’s stomach plummeted. He considered feigning ignorance, but knew it wouldn’t work. Kuroo’s mind was a steel trap. He never forgot anything. Iwaizumi was certain that Kuroo remembered the name and was only pretending not to.

“Oikawa,” said Iwaizumi. “I’m not sure how well they know each other, though. I don’t think they hang out much.”

“Still better than nothing. Maybe he can point us in the right direction.” 

Iwaizumi tried to think of a way to divert the inevitable. “I’m not so sure. You’d probably have better luck with the other guys at Shiratorizawa. Semi and Shirabu have been having problems, remember? Maybe Shirabu has noticed something else.”

Kuroo hummed. “Maybe. But it would probably be good to get an outside perspective, too. Do you have Oikawa’s number?”

Iwaizumi floundered for a good reason to say no, but came up short. He tried to sound indifferent as he said, “Yeah, I do. Want me to call him?”

“Sure. See if he can come in now. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Okay,” said Iwaizumi. He hoped his suffocating reluctance wasn’t obvious. “I’ll step outside and give him a call.”

If Iwaizumi was lucky, Oikawa wouldn’t pick up.

He wasn’t lucky.

  
  
  
  
Thirty minutes later Iwaizumi was back behind the one-way glass, this time watching Kuroo strike up a casual conversation with Oikawa. 

His nerves were strung so tightly that he expected something to snap at any moment.

Oikawa, however, looked perfectly at ease. Iwaizumi had warned him about the subject of the interview over the phone, and he hadn’t seemed particularly worried.

“Semi has always had a bad attitude,” said Oikawa with a shrug. “But I think it’s just his personality. He can’t really help it.”

Kuroo laughed a little, trying to keep the banter light. “Yeah, I kind of got that from him.”

Iwaizumi had refrained from mentioning the sudden revelation of Semi’s less-than-admirable history to Oikawa, and he hoped Kuroo didn’t drop any hints about it, either. He actually hoped that Kuroo didn’t say too much of anything.

The only reason that Iwaizumi was watching the interview was because he was afraid Oikawa would accidentally mention something about the nature of their relationship. After Oikawa had agreed to come in, Kuroo had told Iwaizumi to go back on patrol. 

Iwaizumi had agreed, but sneaked back into the adjoining room after Kuroo had started the interview. He couldn’t do his job properly anyway, knowing that Oikawa was here. He could just slip back out before Kuroo realized he’d stayed. He didn’t have to know.

“Have you ever noticed any kind of suspicious behavior from him?” asked Kuroo. He was smiling, but the spark in his eyes indicated that he was watching for any sign of a reaction. “Anything new or strange?”

“No stranger than usual,” said Oikawa. He sat with one elbow propped on the table between them, his chin in his hand. 

“I heard he’s been more volatile lately,” prodded Kuroo. “He’s been fighting with the other bartender at the club, right? What’s the other guy’s name?”

“Shirabu,” Oikawa supplied.

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Kuroo, pretending like he’d forgotten. “They’ve been having issues, right?”

“They’ve never gotten along,” said Oikawa. 

“Why do you think that is?”

“Shirabu’s a really good bartender. Better than Semi, probably. That’s why they argue.” Oikawa shrugged. “Semi is a jerk, but I don’t think he’d do anything bad.”

That reminded Iwaizumi of what Semi had said, weeks before, when asked about Oikawa.

_Oikawa is kind of a jerk, but he’s not that bad, I guess._

Suddenly Iwaizumi didn’t want Semi to be guilty, but the odds were not in his favor.

Kuroo hummed to himself and tapped his pen against the table, thinking. “You know,” he started slowly, “there’s something else odd about this. We’ve had three serious overdoses recently. In two of the three, the same person called the police to report the incident.” He stopped tapping and fixed a steady stare on Oikawa. “That person is you. Don’t you think that’s a little suspicious?”

Oikawa was startled. “What?”

Iwaizumi felt like he’d been slapped. 

No wonder Kuroo had been pushing him out the door to return to patrol.

He didn’t just want to ask Oikawa for information about Semi. 

He actually wanted to question him.

“You called the police for the first overdose,” explained Kuroo. “The one on Block 45, close to Shiratorizawa. You also called last night when the woman collapsed in the club. That’s kind of a far-reaching coincidence, don’t you think?” 

Iwaizumi felt his hands ball into fists. How dare Kuroo even _think_ Oikawa was involved in this?

Oikawa forced a smile, clearly uncomfortable. “Well, Kuroo-san, it’s not much of a coincidence. I spend a lot of time at Shiratorizawa. I happened to be leaving when I saw the first victim, so of course I called then. Last night Sergeant Iwaizumi asked me to call because he was busy trying to keep someone alive.”

Kuroo mulled over that for a moment. He didn’t look convinced, and Iwaizumi felt the first sparks of anger.

“Why do you spend so much time at Shiratorizawa?” Kuroo finally asked. “You don’t work there, right?”

“No, but I do work for Ushijima,” said Oikawa, “so it’s almost like I’m coworkers with the guys there. It’s just where I like to hang out.”

“And with all the time you spend there, you’ve never noticed anything suspicious,” said Kuroo. “Even though we’ve basically confirmed that Shiratorizawa is at the center of the recent drug activity.”

Oikawa shifted beneath his stare. “No, I haven’t. I’m sorry, Kuroo-san, but I don’t think I have any useful information.”

“No need to apologize,” said Kuroo. He smiled, and Oikawa seemed to relax a little.

Iwaizumi didn’t. He’d seen that sharp, false smile before.

“Just one more question, Oikawa-san,” said Kuroo. “It looks like you moved to Tokyo about seven years ago, from Osaka. Is that right?”

Iwaizumi’s blood went cold.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“That’s where Semi is from, as well,” said Kuroo. “Did you know him then?”

Oikawa’s face flickered, so quickly that it almost didn’t happen.

But it was enough.

The quiet stretched between them, almost deafening in intensity. Iwaizumi’s breath fogged the glass as he leaned closer, wide eyes on Oikawa.

“Oikawa-san?” said Kuroo. “Did you know Semi before you moved to Tokyo?”

Oikawa’s eyes slid to the side. “We were acquaintances,” he said. Both Kuroo and Iwaizumi waited for him to continue, but he offered nothing else.

“It’s kind of a coincidence,” said Kuroo, “that the two of you ended up in the same place, isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t. I introduced him to Ushijima.”

“And why would you do that?”

“He needed a job.”

“So you vouched for him?” said Kuroo. “You gave a good recommendation for an old friend?”

“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing at all,” said Kuroo. He leaned back in his chair. “That was a nice gesture. Just out of curiosity, are you aware of what Semi was doing during those few years before he moved to Tokyo and you reconnected?”

Oikawa’s face was guarded. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do,” said Kuroo. “I also think you must have been involved with the same activities back in Osaka, although it appears you managed to avoid getting caught up with the police. How’d you manage to stay under the radar, Oikawa?”

Oikawa glanced around the room, as if seeking an escape. “I don’t know what you mean, Kuroo-san. Just because Semi and I knew each other doesn’t mean we had the same… _hobbies_.”

“So you do know about his past, then,” said Kuroo. “You know that what’s happening now is very similar to what he did a few years back.”

“I don’t know,” said Oikawa. He tugged at the end of his sleeve, fiddled with the button on the cuff. “I don’t know anything about what’s happening now, I don’t-”

“Exactly how well did you know Semi back then?” asked Kuroo, speaking over him. “Were you friends? Colleagues? _More_?”

Oikawa’s expression cracked. He looked down at his hands, his hair falling forward. “Iwa-chan said you were just going to ask a few questions about Semi,” he said quietly. 

Something in Iwaizumi’s chest gave a painful tug.

Kuroo’s brow twitched at the informal nickname, but he didn’t comment. “That’s all I’m doing here. Just asking a few questions.”

“No, you’re accusing me,” said Oikawa, his voice still low. “You think I did something, too, because of Semi. But I didn’t, and he didn’t.”

“If you haven’t done anything then you shouldn’t be so nervous about talking to me. I’m just trying to help.”

Oikawa didn’t look at him. “I want to talk to Iwaizumi.”

“He’s not here. You’re dealing with me.”

Iwaizumi took a step toward the door before stopping himself. This wasn’t something he could interrupt, no matter how much he’d like to. Kuroo was captain of investigations. He had rank over Iwaizumi. Kuroo could do whatever he wanted.

Oikawa looked at the door and then peeked up at Kuroo. “I don’t think you can keep me here,” he said. “I think I’m allowed to leave if I’m not under arrest.”

“Did Semi teach you that?”

Oikawa’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Then he bit his lip and looked away. “I’m leaving now. Goodbye, Kuroo-san.”

He moved toward the door, and Kuroo made no move to stop him. He simply stood and followed him out.

Iwaizumi should have stayed where he was. They would pass right by without even noticing him.

Instead he stomped into the hallway directly in front of them.

When Oikawa caught sight of him, his face flooded with relief. It was quickly snuffed out and replaced with distress. Iwaizumi was pierced by a spike of guilt.

“Iwaizumi,” said Kuroo. He had the grace to look a little ashamed of himself. “I thought you went back on patrol.”

“And I thought you were trying to get more information about Semi, not creating a new suspect.” Iwaizumi’s voice was hard, clipped. He looked at Oikawa, who flinched beneath the intensity of his glare. “How’d you get here?”

“I, um… taxi?”

“Go wait out front. I’ll drive you home.”

Oikawa looked as if he wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Still, he went without argument, eager to get away from Kuroo.

When he was gone, Kuroo said, “Sorry, Iwaizumi. I know he’s your friend, but I have to cover all my bases. If you were listening then you know how suspicious he is. I kept you out of it so it wouldn’t be a conflict of interest.”

“I thought you’d decided Semi was responsible for all this. Why drag someone else into it when you haven’t even proven he’s involved?”

“Like I said, they’re both suspicious,” said Kuroo. “They might be in on it together. And when I say together, I mean _together_. Oikawa didn’t want to admit it, but I already know what kind of relationship they had back in Osaka. They were definitely not just acquaintances.” 

Iwaizumi immediately grasped the implication, and it only made him angrier.

“So I guess being _gay_ makes him more suspicious?” he spat, his voice echoing too loudly in the brick hallway. “He’s already fucked up in the head, so it just makes sense that he’d be involved in this, too?”

Kuroo took a step back, shocked by the outburst. “What? No, that doesn’t have anything to do with it. Come on, Iwaizumi, I thought we were in this together.”

“Not if you’re keeping things like this from me,” he said. “Not if you’re investigating my _friends_ without telling me. I want to crack this case just as much as you do, Kuroo, but I am not okay with the way you’re handling this.” 

“I get it,” said Kuroo. He held his hands up between them, palms out, as if trying to pacify Iwaizumi. “I should’ve told you. I’m sorry. But you have to admit, if you look at their history-”

“I have to go,” said Iwaizumi abruptly. He didn’t want to hear about this, not from Kuroo. “Let me know if you get any leads. Any _real_ leads.”

He turned on his heel and walked away, headed toward the front of the building where he’d instructed Oikawa to wait.

He probably shouldn’t have offered him a ride. They needed to talk, but Iwaizumi also needed a cooling down period first. If they talked about it right now a disaster was inevitable.

When he stepped onto the sidewalk Oikawa was waiting, standing awkwardly beside his police cruiser.

Iwaizumi needed time to think, but it didn’t appear that he was going to get it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to have time to update tomorrow, so here. Have it a day early.
> 
> Happy weekend! ^^

Iwaizumi expected Oikawa to babble all the way home, but he was eerily quiet. Somehow that was even worse.

They didn’t exchange a single word on the drive across the city to Oikawa’s apartment. The only sound between them was the occasional static burst of Iwaizumi’s radio, mingled with the voices of officers and dispatchers. 

Iwaizumi listened out of necessity but the majority of his attention was on Oikawa. He noticed every twitch of his fingers, every tap of his foot, every time he fiddled with his hair.

By the time they reached Oikawa’s apartment building Iwaizumi was mostly calm. The flare of rage that had burned in his chest had fizzled to embers. 

He pulled the cruiser into a parallel spot on the street and shifted into park. Oikawa made no move to get out of the car.

Iwaizumi needed to say something but he didn’t know where to start.

“Iwa-chan?” said Oikawa, his voice small. “Are you mad at me?”

Iwaizumi looked over. Oikawa still stared at his hands, fingers twisted together in his lap. “What would I be mad about?”

He was still nursing that small spark of smoldering rage but it was reserved for Kuroo.

Oikawa peeked up at him. “I didn’t tell you about Semi,” he said. “I didn’t tell you what he used to do.”

Iwaizumi forced himself not to react. Calmly, he said, “You had no obligation to tell me.”

“But Iwa-chan-”

“But nothing. Just because I’m a cop doesn’t mean I expect you to tell me all the gritty details about everyone you know. That’s ridiculous.”

There was a beat of silence. 

“Kuroo-san,” whispered Oikawa, “thinks I’m guilty of something.”

“Yeah, he does.”

“Do you think that, Iwa-chan?”

“I didn’t even know he suspected you until twenty minutes ago.”

“What about Semi?” said Oikawa. “Do you think he’s selling the drugs?”

Iwaizumi wasn’t certain how to answer. He wasn’t honestly sure what the answer even was. “What do you think?” he asked instead. “Apparently you know him pretty well. Do you think he’s involved?”

“No,” said Oikawa quickly. “He’s not like that. Not… not anymore. I know how he used to act back then and he’s different now.”

Iwaizumi shouldn’t have asked but the question slipped out before he could stop it. “How well did you know him?”

Oikawa opened his mouth to answer, closed it again, and looked away. “Iwa-chan, please.”

“Please what?”

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

Iwaizumi tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He stared at his own knuckles because he couldn’t stomach the look on Oikawa’s face. “I’m not mad, Oikawa.”

It was mostly true.

“We were… you know.” Oikawa hesitated, searching for the right words. “We dated for a while. It wasn’t good for either of us. I guess you know what kinds of things he was into and I wanted nothing to do with it. I promise, Iwa-chan. I never did anything like that.” 

He looked at him with wide, pleading eyes. Iwaizumi didn’t detect a trace of dishonesty.

“I believe you.”

Oikawa’s shoulders sagged a little, relief easing his tension. “Really?”

“I have no reason not to.”

“Are you mad that I didn’t tell you we used to date?”

“No. It’s none of my business.”

“Semi isn’t doing this,” said Oikawa with a surprising measure of conviction. “He’s not dealing drugs anymore. I promise, Iwa-chan. He’s different now.”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Just okay. It’s an open case. I can’t really talk about it.”

Oikawa sighed and sank down farther in his seat. His face was slowly crumpling inward, as if he was losing a battle against his own emotions. “I don’t like Semi anymore. Not like that. Not much at all, really. It was over a long time ago.”

Iwaizumi looked over at him. Oikawa had just been accused of being involved in a drug scandal. His relationship status with Semi should be the least of his concerns. 

“I don’t want you to think,” said Oikawa, as if sensing Iwaizumi’s bemusement, “that I still want to be with him. I just want to be with you.” His eyes darted to the side to take in Iwaizumi’s reaction. “I mean, if that’s even still what you want now that all this is happening. If you don’t then I get it. I know how it looks and it’s not good for you to be seen with me now, even more than before. I’m sorry, Iwa-chan.”

He scrabbled at the door, as if trying to escape a response. Iwaizumi leaned across the center console and pressed a hand against the side of Oikawa’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“Oikawa,” he said, clearly. 

Oikawa blinked a few times but didn’t look away.

“I don’t care how it looks,” said Iwaizumi, surprised by his own sincerity. “Look me in the eye and tell me you have nothing to do with this and I’ll believe you.” 

Oikawa didn’t hesitate. “I have nothing to do with it,” he breathed. “I haven’t done anything. I don’t know anything about it. I swear, Iwa-chan.”

The words were open and sincere. 

Iwaizumi couldn’t help but believe him.

He leaned just a little closer and brushed his lips against Oikawa’s. “Okay,” he said simply.

Oikawa touched his mouth, as if uncertain that Iwaizumi had really just kissed him. “That’s it?” he asked. “You really believe me?”

“Of course I do. I trust you.”

Oikawa’s face brightened. “Really? You mean it, Iwa-chan?”

“Yeah, I mean it. I don’t think you did anything wrong, no matter what Kuroo says.” It was a bold statement. Iwaizumi didn’t go against the judgment of other officers, especially not those ranked above him. To think he would do it for someone he’d only met a little over a month ago, someone he was still learning about, was ridiculous.

He knew it was illogical, but he really did trust Oikawa. There was just something about him that dragged Iwaizumi in, like he’d been caught in the gravitational pull of a beautiful, high-maintenance, and somewhat whiny planet. 

Oikawa smiled. “Thank you, Iwa-chan. I was afraid you would think I was guilty. I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore.”

Iwaizumi reached out and squeezed Oikawa’s hand, lightly. “I can’t believe you have so little faith in me, Shittykawa.”

Oikawa scrunched his nose at the nickname but he was still smiling. “So we’re good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“Are you still taking me out Friday night?”

“I said I would. Nothing has changed.”

This time it was Oikawa who moved. He crawled halfway across the car to get to Iwaizumi, pressing their mouths together with a little too much force. 

“Get off,” mumbled Iwaizumi, though the protest was half-hearted. “Your neighbors are going to see.”

“I hope they do,” said Oikawa smugly. “They’ll all be jealous.”

Iwaizumi huffed. “Get inside, Trashykawa. Don’t you have to go to work or something?”

“I’d rather make out with my boyfriend in a police car.”

Iwaizumi felt his face flame. “Who said I was your boyfriend?”

“I did. Are you going to argue with me, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi tried to come up with a response, _anything_ , but his mind was blank.

Oikawa tilted his head, interpreting the silence as a refusal. “You really don’t want to be my boyfriend?”

“I… didn’t say that.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

Iwaizumi swallowed down his own embarrassment and said, “You know I can’t be… _public_ … with this kind of thing.”

“Right, you’re still in the closet,” said Oikawa. “I know, Iwa-chan. It’s not like I’m going to go around telling everyone. I just want this, even if it’s only between us. Okay?”

If Oikawa wasn’t so damn attractive Iwaizumi’s life would probably have been much simpler.

“Okay,” he said. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “Is it just fine or do you actually want to be my boyfriend?”

“I want to be your boyfriend.” It rolled off his tongue easily because it was the truth.

“Good.” Oikawa pushed the car door open and hopped onto the sidewalk. He leaned back inside and said, “I’ll see you soon, boyfriend-Iwa-chan. Call me later.” He winked and pushed the door shut, striding up to the front of his apartment complex with several glances over his shoulder. He waved when he reached the entrance and Iwaizumi found himself waving back.

He was in too deep. Oikawa Tooru was going to kill him.

Iwaizumi’s number one priority had always been his career. For years he’d poured everything he had into the job. He’d lived it, breathed it, and would have gladly died for it.

And now, when he should be focused on exploring every possible suspect on his current case – including Oikawa – he’d already decided that there was no point looking into the possibility because he was certain Oikawa was innocent.

That wasn’t good police work and he certainly wasn’t making his job a priority.

He knew that, but he also knew that he was one hundred percent certain that Oikawa wasn’t involved in the drug crimes. 

He would stake his career on it, and it seemed that he may actually have to.

  
  
  
  
Iwaizumi thought he’d already handled the worst crisis of the day.

When he went back to the police station he was proven very wrong. 

Hanamaki and Kyoutani were in the patrol room, which was odd enough in itself. Kyoutani avoided the station whenever possible, preferring to run constant patrols rather than interact with his fellow officers.

Not only was Kyoutani present, but he was sitting stiffly in one of the office chairs, something like concern creasing his brow as he watched Hanamaki.

As soon as he saw Iwaizumi the expression vanished back into his neutral scowl.

Iwaizumi looked from him to Hanamaki and immediately saw what the problem was.

Makki sat with his head tilted back and a bloody towel pressed to his nose. His skin looked a little too pale against the scarlet smeared on his cheek. His eyes were closed and he didn’t open them as Iwaizumi came in.

Iwaizumi should have handled it calmly. It was his duty as sergeant to have full control over all situations involving himself and his officers. 

When he opened his mouth to calmly ask what had happened, what came out was, “What the actual _fuck_ , Makki?”

Hanamaki winced but still didn’t open his eyes. “It’s not a big deal,” he said, voice muffled by his hand. “Just a little accident.”

“His nose is broken,” said Kyoutani flatly, “and he refuses to go to the hospital.”

Hanamaki cracked his eyes open just far enough to glare at him. “It’s not broken. Probably.”

“It’s been bleeding for half an hour. And it wasn’t crooked yesterday.”

“It’s not crooked. Shut up, Kyoutani.”

“What happened?” snapped Iwaizumi, ending the useless bickering. 

Hanamaki swiveled his chair away. “There was a scuffle with a disorderly suspect. Kai from investigations is booking them into the jail right now. Everything is fine.”

Iwaizumi was not satisfied by that answer. He looked to Kyoutani instead.

“Hanamaki was staring into fucking space instead of watching the suspect,” he supplied. He crossed his arms and ignored Hanamaki’s glare. “She made a break for it and he happened to be standing in her way so she headbutted him.”

“ _She_?”

Kyoutani smirked. “It was a seventeen year old girl. If she weighed 45 kilos I’d be surprised.”

They both looked at Hanamaki, who closed his eyes against the attention. “She was a scrapper, okay? Girls are tough too.”

Iwaizumi ignored him. “Do you really think it’s broken?”

“Yeah,” said Kyoutani with a shrug. “Mine’s been broken a few times. I know what it looks like.”

“Fantastic,” said Iwaizumi flatly. 

“I’m fine. You’re both being dramatic.”

Iwaizumi eyed the blood dripping between Hanamaki’s fingers. “I don’t think so.”

Their radios clicked in unison. A voice announced, “203, dispatch.”

Hanamaki groaned, the sound somewhat bubbly because of the blood in his mouth.

Iwaizumi tapped his radio. “Go ahead for 203.”

“BOLO for an erratic driver near block 49,” said the dispatcher. “Caller believes he may be under the influence of something. Middle-aged male, small blue vehicle. They couldn’t provide any more details.”

Before Iwaizumi could respond Kyoutani pressed his radio and said, “Ten-four. 206, en route.” He eyed Hanamaki again as he stood to leave the room. “I’ll cover his zone. Make him go to the hospital.”

Iwaizumi didn’t miss the irony of Kyoutani giving him orders but he chose not to comment. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m taking him there myself.”

Kyoutani nodded and left amid Hanamaki’s weak protests.

“I’m seriously fine,” he said. He sat up a little straighter. More blood drizzled down the side of his hand. “Kyoutani is making a big deal out of nothing. You know how he is.”

“Shut up, Makki.” Iwaizumi stalked across the room and yanked a wad of paper towels off of a roll on the counter. He shoved it into Hanamaki’s free hand. “You’re getting blood all over your uniform.”

Hanamaki groaned again. He removed the towel long enough for Iwaizumi to catch a glimpse of bloody nostrils and a nose that was now precariously tilted to the left. Then he pressed the fresh paper towels against his face and they soaked up the crimson.

“I’ve worked with you for six years,” said Iwaizumi. He managed to keep most of the anger out of his voice but it wasn’t easy. The day had already worn his temper thin. “You’ve only injured yourself once and that was because you jumped off a fucking bridge to get that kid out of the river.”

“I was a hero that day,” said Hanamaki airily.

“You were an _idiot_ that day,” said Iwaizumi, “and this is worse. What the hell happened?”

Hanamaki shrugged and dabbed at the blood dripping off of his chin. “She caught me off guard.”

“You’re never off guard, Makki. You’re the most careful officer I’ve ever seen. Kyoutani said you weren’t even watching the girl.”

“Kyoutani doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“You were thinking about Mattsun, weren’t you?”

Hanamaki shot him a withering glare, but it wavered.

“You _were_ ,” said Iwaizumi, jumping on the brief flicker of weakness. “You were probably thinking something stupid like, _if Mattsun hadn’t transferred shifts he’d be here instead of Kyoutani_ , or _if Mattsun was here he’d think this was hilarious_.”

“Not true.”

“You’re still mad at him.”

“Of course I’m mad at him!” said Hanamaki, voice thick with blood and anger. “He’s a jerk!”

“Are you more angry because he transferred shifts or because he has feelings for you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Or are you more angry at yourself for turning your back on your best friend?”

“Shut up, Iwaizumi.”

“He took a chance by even talking to you about it, and you basically told him to fuck off. How do you think that made him feel, Makki?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!” said Hanamaki. He sat upright so quickly that he nearly toppled out of his chair. He pressed against his nose too hard and winced. “I made a mistake today, alright? I admit it. I was thinking about Mattsun’s bullshit and got distracted. It won’t happen again.”

“You’d best hope it doesn’t,” said Iwaizumi. He thumbed at the edge of his belt absently, nail scraping against the leather pouch that held his taser. “We’re getting a new officer on shift tomorrow. He’s only been with the PD for a year and a half and he needs some good officers to look up to. Right now Kyoutani is a better example than you.”

“Ouch. That was low.”

“It’s the truth. Kyoutani is covering for you because you can’t pull it together and do your job. You need to work out whatever the hell is going on with Mattsun. Either make amends and be an actual friend or cut it off completely. Whatever you have to do. Just get it together.”

Hanamaki slumped beneath the order in reluctant submission. “Fine.”

“Now get up. I’m driving you to the hospital.”

“No, I’m really fine and-”

“It’s really up to you,” said Iwaizumi, “but if your nose heals like that, just know that I’m going to make fun of you every day for the rest of your life.”

Hanamaki looked utterly betrayed. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But when they say it’s not broken I expect a full apology for being so overbearing.”

  
  
  
  
It was broken.

A nurse popped Hanamaki’s nose back into alignment and he howled like she’d stabbed him.

“You’d think a police officer wouldn’t be such a baby,” said Iwaizumi. He stood by the door of the small room with his arms folded, enjoying the show just a little too much. 

He may have snapped a couple of pictures. Hanamaki wouldn’t know until they showed up on the patrol room bulletin board.

“Shut up,” said Hanamaki for the fifteenth time that day. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes and he brusquely scrubbed them away. “You’ve never had a broken nose. You don’t know how bad it hurts.”

The nurse gave Iwaizumi a conspiratory smile as she left the room to fetch paperwork.

“Probably not as bad as Mattsun’s feelings hurt,” said Iwaizumi, “now that you’re not speaking to him anymore.”

Now that Hanamaki had calmed down from the headbutting incident he had the decency to look a little ashamed. “I know, okay? I just don’t know what to say yet. Give me some time.”

It was an improvement over blatant refusal so Iwaizumi let it slide.

Iwaizumi’s cell buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out and was surprised by the name flashing across the screen. “Hey, Kyoutani.”

“Hey.” There was an extended pause. Kyoutani was awkward enough in person but his conversational phone skills were horrendous. “Uh. Is Hanamaki back on patrol yet?”

“No, not yet. We’re still at the hospital. Why?”

“Oh. Well, uh. Captain Kuroo wanted to meet with me. And Zeno. About that drug that’s been turning up.”

Iwaizumi took a moment to process that. “He wants to train your dog to sniff out the drug?”

“Yeah. Should I tell him to wait? Since we don’t have a lot of officers anyway. And Hanamaki.”

Iwaizumi considered. Aside from the obvious incident, not much had been going on that day. They were one officer down – two, counting Makki – but Kuroo’s investigators were probably still patrolling, too. If Iwaizumi hit the streets they could handle it.

They _could_ , but he wasn’t particularly sure that he wanted to.

It was understandable that Kuroo would want another tool in tracking down the drug, but Iwaizumi had a bad feeling about this. That feeling was intensified by the fact that Kuroo had contacted Kyoutani directly instead of asking Iwaizumi. That wasn’t how things were done. 

Clearly Kuroo was aware that he’d upset Iwaizumi. He probably thought he’d deny the request out of some sense of vengeance.

Iwaizumi had to admit he was strongly considering it.

But at the end of the day, no matter how angry he was at Kuroo, searching out the source of the drug distribution was most important. If anyone else died because of Iwaizumi’s pettiness he would never forgive himself.

“Go ahead, Kyoutani,” he said. “I’ll cover for you. If you need to train with Zeno tomorrow that’s fine, too. Just ask Kuroo if we can borrow one of his investigators again. We’ll have Kageyama in the morning so we won’t be too short.” He slid a glance at the hospital bed where Hanamaki was carefully prodding at his newly set nose. “Assuming Makki survives this fatal injury.”

“Hey!”

“Alright,” said Kyoutani. “We’ll finish by tomorrow at the latest. Zeno is smart. He’ll pick it up fast.”

Iwaizumi wouldn’t argue with that. Sometimes he thought the dog was smarter than some of his officers.

Hanamaki was on the top of that list right now.

“Keep me updated,” said Iwaizumi. “Thanks for today, Kyoutani.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Bye.”

Iwaizumi ended the call with a touch of fondness. Kyoutani was still handful but he’d come a long way from when he’d first been assigned to the shift. Somehow Iwaizumi had been volunteered to keep an eye on him even though he hadn’t been a sergeant at the time. 

Kyoutani had been a mess. He yelled too much, scared innocent bystanders, and wanted to send Zeno chasing after everyone who looked at him the wrong way.

He’d definitely come a long way.

“Is Kyoutani transferring too?” asked Hanamaki. He scraped at the dried blood on his upper lip. “Maybe he’ll confess to me next.”

Iwaizumi grabbed an empty tray off the counter and flung it at him. Hanamaki batted it away before it collided with his face.

“Hey, I’m injured!”

“You’re dismissed for the day,” said Iwaizumi. He stalked toward the door. “I’ll see you in the morning. Get some rest and be ready to actually work.”

“Wait, you drove me here. How am I supposed to get home?”

“You live four blocks away. Walk.” He left the room, ignoring Makki’s protests. It was best for both of them, because he wasn’t confident that he wouldn’t have another outburst if he had to listen to another of Hanamaki’s snide comments.

He wondered about Matsukawa’s sanity.

He didn’t know how anyone could be interested in a jerk like Hanamaki.


	13. Chapter 13

Iwaizumi was slightly worried about how well Kageyama would integrate into their shift. It wasn’t always easy to mesh with an entirely new group of officers who’d had experience working together. They’d already established their roles and routines, and finding a place in that wasn’t easy.

Kageyama took it in stride, not even flinching away from Kyoutani’s scowl when they were introduced. It seemed he was eager to be given a chance to prove himself, which was something Iwaizumi could respect. He saw it quite often with young officers such as Kageyama. Sometimes it could result in brash, irresponsible actions, but Kageyama didn’t really seem the type.

For right now he was more worried about Hanamaki in that regard.

Iwaizumi made sure to arrive quickly at the first call that Kageyama was dispatched on, just to get a feel for him. It was a domestic dispute and Kageyama handled the situation quite well. He was a little more intense than the other officers Iwaizumi worked with but he supposed that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. They’d been on the job longer and had started to mellow out. Kageyama was still in the early stages where he felt it was his personal duty to protect the name of justice.

He did well and Iwaizumi mostly stopped worrying. He complimented Kageyama, who flushed beneath the attention and stammered an awkward, “Th-thank you.”

Kindaichi and Kunimi didn’t seem to like him. Apparently they’d been hired around the same time and had gone through training together. When Iwaizumi caught them talking badly about Kageyama he gave them a stern look and a sterner lecture and hoped things would level out.

The next few days passed by without significant incident. There were a few arrests for possession of the new mystery drug but it was only found in small amounts. There were no more overdoses and no more crises at Shiratorizawa, for which Iwaizumi was grateful.

The last victim was still in the hospital. She hadn’t regained consciousness but the doctors gave her a fairly good chance of eventually coming out of the coma. They didn’t know how long it would take but the fact that there was even a chance made Iwaizumi feel a little better.

It was difficult to feel bad at all when Friday rolled around and he was crammed into a corner booth beside Oikawa, their elbows bumping as they struggled to eat ramen without invading each other’s personal space.

Well, Iwaizumi was trying. He was fairly certain that Oikawa was intentionally leaning into him every time he tried to take a bite.

“Could you give me some space?” Iwaizumi growled, dropping his chopsticks for the third time when Oikawa nudged him too hard. 

“Sorry, Iwa-chan,” said Oikawa. His eyes were wide and completely void of apology. “It’s a small booth.”

Iwaizumi leaned over him to check. There was a good thirty centimeters of space before the seat dropped off. 

Oikawa just grinned and scooted impossibly closer.

Iwaizumi complained but they both knew he really didn’t mind.

He’d been concerned that there would be lingering tension after Kuroo’s interrogation but Oikawa seemed to be perfectly at ease. Either he was unbothered or he was hiding his worries extremely well.

Iwaizumi hoped it wasn’t the latter. Oikawa shouldn’t have to be stressed about something he wasn’t involved in, and Iwaizumi was still unshakably certain that he wasn’t involved.

“You should buy me ice cream after this,” said Oikawa when he’d finished his ramen and pushed the bowl away. 

“I don’t think you need any sugar.”

“Because I’m already sweet enough?”

“No, because you’re already too damn hyper.”

“Not nice, Iwa-chan.”

Despite the comment, Iwaizumi bought Oikawa his choice of ice cream as soon as they left the restaurant. Oikawa ate it happily, a spring in his step as they walked. They hadn’t discussed where they were going but their direction would take them near both Shiratorizawa and Oikawa’s apartment. 

Iwaizumi watched Oikawa from the corner of his eye as they drew near the intersection that would decide their destination.

Oikawa paused on the corner, sucking on the plastic spoon in his mouth. “Hey, Iwa-chan? I know it’s still early but do you want to go to my place? We can watch a movie or something.”

Iwaizumi felt himself relax a little. “Yeah, sounds fine.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he repeated with a twist of his lips. “You always say everything is fine. How am I supposed to know if you mean it or if you’re just saying it?”

“I always mean what I say.”

“Not true. You called me a brat earlier.”

“And I meant it. You were being a brat.”

“Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi snorted and bumped his shoulder against Oikawa’s. “I want to go to your place, Trasykawa. I’ll even watch a movie, although I’m guessing your taste in movies is probably pretty shitty.”

“Not true. I’m a film connoisseur.”

They walked to Oikawa’s apartment. Iwaizumi kept his fists in his pockets because he kept wanting to reach for Oikawa’s hand. Mid-evening on a Friday was too risky; there were people everywhere and Iwaizumi couldn’t guarantee that none of them would recognize him.

Oikawa seemed perfectly content walking along beside him, his arms swinging at his sides. He talked about his day at work, and how Suga had managed to score a 10,000 yen tip from a rich widow, and how Tadashi had tripped in the kitchen and knocked an entire platter of lobster tails into the floor. 

Iwaizumi felt himself laughing along with the stories, at ease. It wasn’t difficult to relax around Oikawa. He felt familiar, although they hadn’t known each other very long. He felt safe. It was entirely different than Iwaizumi’s past experiences, during which he was just as eager to get away from his one-time partners as he was to be with them in the first place.

He was still aware that he was taking a big risk just by being with Oikawa at all, but for the first time, he felt that the risk was worth it.

  
  
  
  
True to form, Oikawa did have terrible taste in movies. 

“This is the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen,” said Iwaizumi flatly. 

They were on the couch, Oikawa curled up beneath Iwaizumi’s arm, his long legs tucked under him. 

This was new, too. Iwaizumi had never wanted to be this close to someone just for the sake of closeness. In any of his past encounters he would’ve already been halfway to an orgasm by now.

It was nice, though. He liked the warmth of Oikawa’s body pressed against him and the fresh scent of his shampoo. 

He just liked Oikawa in general.

“Shh,” said Oikawa. He reached up clumsily to press a finger to Iwaizumi’s lips and almost ended up sticking it up his nose instead. “It’s getting to the good part.”

Iwaizumi gently smacked his hand away. “These special effects are awful. When was this made? The 1800s?”

“Shut up, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispered. “It’s a masterpiece.”

Iwaizumi sighed. He didn’t think his sanity would be the same if he sat through this entire movie.

He slipped a finger beneath Oikawa’s chin and tilted his head up, breaking his intent gaze away from the TV screen.

“I can think of something else I’d rather watch,” he said, smoothing his fingers along Oikawa’s jaw. 

Oikawa blinked at him. “Iwa-chan, are you flirting with me in the middle of my favorite movie? Don’t you see how rude that is?”

“You’ve seen it like fifty times.”

“At least a hundred. It’s my _favorite_.”

Iwaizumi gave in with a roll of his eyes. He leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes against the flashes of cheesy lines and painful graphics. “Wake me up when it’s over.”

For a few minutes Oikawa didn’t respond. Iwaizumi assumed he was still watching the movie.

Then a warm weight settled into Iwaizumi’s lap and he opened his eyes to find Oikawa staring down at him, straddling his thighs.

Oikawa cradled Iwaizumi’s face between his hands, more gently than Iwaizumi expected. 

“I can’t let Iwa-chan be bored at my apartment,” said Oikawa quietly. “That’s bad manners.”

Iwaizumi snorted. “Watch your movie, Oikawa. I really don’t care.”

Oikawa leaned closer. His breath ghosted across Iwaizumi’s lips, which suddenly itched for contact. “There’s something I’d rather watch, too,” he said. His height forced him to hunch over a little to keep level with Iwaizumi. Oikawa pressed their mouths together once, chastely, and said, “I’d like to watch the face you make when I fuck you.”

Iwaizumi’s face went red so fast that it was like someone had struck a match beneath his skin. He turned his head to the side, suddenly unable to look directly at Oikawa. “Fuck,” he muttered. “You can’t just _say_ something like that.”

Oikawa’s smile pressed into his jaw. “Don’t be shy, Iwa-chan,” he murmured. “I’m good at it, I promise.”

Iwaizumi halfheartedly tried to push him away but slumped back in submission when Oikawa started licking at his neck. He tilted his head to the side, hands moving to grip Oikawa’s hips. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Hmm?” Oikawa hummed against his neck. He drew out a shudder with a scrape of his teeth and sat back to look at Iwaizumi, who still wouldn’t make eye contact. “Iwa-chan? What’s wrong?”

Iwaizumi’s jaw twitched as he tried to string a coherent sentence together.

Oikawa blinked, eyes widening in realization. “Oh,” he said, softly. “Oh, you’ve never… Oh.”

Iwaizumi finally cut his stare back to Oikawa. “Don’t make fun of me.”

Oikawa’s brows furrowed. “Why would I make fun of you? I mean, other than your unpleasant demeanor and perpetually angry eyebrows and – Ow!” He shied away from the light slap with a pout. “It’s not a big deal, Iwa-chan. We don’t have to do it that way. I like it both ways. It doesn’t matter to me.”

He ducked down to skim his lips along Iwaizumi’s jaw line, stopping to lick along the shell of his ear.

Iwaizumi’s grip tightened on Oikawa’s hips. “I don’t… mind,” he forced out. It was difficult to produce words when Oikawa’s teeth were grazing his earlobe. “If that’s what you want, then I’ll… I’ll try it.”

Oikawa pulled back and frowned down at him. “I want _you_ , Iwa-chan. I don’t care how.”

Fuck.

Iwaizumi didn’t understand how a person could be so damn _pretty_.

“It’s fine,” he said. He quickly rephrased when Oikawa gave him a look. “I mean, I want to do it.”

“Do what?” asked Oikawa innocently, looping his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck.

Iwaizumi was unimpressed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Say it, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s grin was smug.

Iwaizumi knew this would drag on until he gave in. “Fine. I want you to fuck me.”

Oikawa tilted his head. “Say please.”

Iwaizumi growled, shoved Oikawa off of him, and kissed him into the sofa. 

It wasn’t as comfortable as Iwaizumi’s extremely well-used couch, but it was bigger, which was more convenient for the tangle of long limbs. 

Somehow Oikawa managed to flip their positions and ended up on top of Iwaizumi again. He ground his hips down as they kissed, all roaming hands and hot breaths. 

Oikawa’s phone rang, which didn’t surprise either of them. It wasn’t the first time they’d been interrupted while engaging in illicit behaviors on a couch. This time it was easy to ignore and the call went unanswered. 

Oikawa’s hand roved up his shirt and grazed a nipple. Iwaizumi arched beneath him. 

“This is going to be fun,” Oikawa whispered against his lips. “I think I’ll eat you out first. Would you like that?”

Iwaizumi went a little dizzy from the heat that suddenly rushed between his legs.

Oikawa chuckled and dipped back down to his neck, sucking very lightly so there would be no marks left above the collar of his uniform.

Once he got lower, though, all bets were off. He was going to mark Iwaizumi so well that he would be bruised for weeks. 

The phone started ringing again, and again it was ignored. Oikawa wrangled Iwaizumi out of his shirt and starting leaving tiny bites down his chest, pausing to trace the ridges of his stomach with his tongue. 

He sat up and slipped out of his own shirt before diving down again to tear at the button of Iwaizumi’s pants. While he worked it free he sank his teeth into Iwaizumi’s hip, dragging a low moan out of him.

The phone rang again and Oikawa sat up with a hissed curse. He pried it out of his pocket, pulled back like he was about to fling it across the room, and hesitated as he glimpsed the name on the screen.

He looked from the phone to Iwaizumi, who panted beneath him.

“It’s Semi,” said Oikawa, uncertainly. “Semi never calls.”

Iwaizumi would prefer that Semi go jump off a cliff.

“Answer it if you need to,” he said, keeping that less-than-friendly thought to himself.

“I don’t want to,” said Oikawa. He bit his swollen lip. “But he never calls.”

Iwaizumi tried not to snap at him. “Then answer it.”

Oikawa teetered on the edge of a decision for so long that Iwaizumi thought the ringing would stop and make the choice for him. At the end of the final ring Oikawa accepted the call and answered with a hesitant, “Hello?”

Iwaizumi heard the buzz of Semi’s voice on the other end. He couldn’t make out the words but he did hear the edge in his voice.

“Where are you?” said Oikawa. He peeled himself away from Iwaizumi and perched on the arm of the couch. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

There was a pause, more words that Iwaizumi couldn’t discern.

Oikawa licked his lips. It looked like a nervous gesture. His eyes darted to Iwaizumi for only a second. “Yeah, he’s here. We’re at my place.”

Iwaizumi sat up and tried to ignore the throbbing discomfort trapped in his jeans.

“Well not now, thanks for that,” snapped Oikawa. His voice was bitter but his face carried a touch of worry. “Why would you… No, just throw it away or something.”

Iwaizumi’s brow creased. Oikawa wouldn’t look at him.

“Semi, this isn’t a good idea,” he said. He rose and paced the length of the couch, his back toward Iwaizumi. “You can’t walk around with that, what if you… Okay, but where… Fuck. Yeah, fine. We’re here.”

He ended the call but didn’t immediately turn back to face Iwaizumi. He seemed to be collecting himself.

Iwaizumi wanted to ask what was wrong but he made himself wait.

After a moment Oikawa exhaled and turned. He looked torn. “Semi is coming over,” he said, the words bland. “He needs your help.”

Iwaizumi just stared at him, waiting for a joke that never came. “What?”

Oikawa looked uncomfortable. “I kind of… talked to him earlier. About Kuroo talking to me, and about you, and just… Iwa-chan, don’t look at me like that.”

“What does he want?”

“Well…”

There was a knock at the door.

“He’s here already?”

“He was out front when he called!” said Oikawa, a little defensively. He scooped his shirt off the floor and pulled it over his head. “Just… try to be nice to him, okay?”

Iwaizumi gawked as Oikawa went to answer the door.

Oikawa wanted him to be nice. 

To _Semi_.

What the fuck?

It was only a small comfort that Semi looked as reluctant to be there as Iwaizumi was to see him. He inched into the room with his arms crossed, scowl in place. He kept his eyes on the floor and didn’t even acknowledge Iwaizumi.

“Iwa-chan, put your shirt on,” said Oikawa, clearly trying to keep the mood light. “All those muscles are intimidating.”

Iwaizumi couldn’t even think of a snappy comeback. He reached blindly for his shirt, not looking away from Semi. 

He’d been trained not to take his eyes off of anyone suspicious, and Semi was definitely being suspicious.

The moment lingered and finally Oikawa intervened. He shoved Semi forward, making him stumble nearer to the couch. Semi glared but Oikawa was unaffected.

“Just get it over with,” said Oikawa. “We were kind of in the middle of something that I’d really like to continue. If you know what I mean.”

Semi’s lip curled. “Gross.”

“ _You’re_ gross, Semi-chan. And you can’t mix a cocktail for shit.”

That made Semi’s glare a little more believable but he still didn’t look particularly offended. His eyes shifted in Iwaizumi’s direction but he quickly looked away again when he found himself being watched.

He seemed to brace himself before he spoke. “Oikawa says you’re not actually out to get me.”

Iwaizumi looked to Oikawa, wondering exactly what he’d said. 

He believed Oikawa was innocent. He had no such certainty about Semi.

“I’m not out to get anyone.” It seemed like the safest thing to say. “I’m just helping Kuroo with the investigation. Or, I was. I’m not so sure now.”

Oikawa looked a little guilty, which was dumb. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

“I have something for your _investigation_ ,” said Semi, sneering the word. “But you can’t ask any questions.”

Iwaizumi had no idea what was going on.

He was even more confused when Semi pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it toward the couch. Iwaizumi caught it on reflex.

It was a small plastic bag, tied shut with a clumsy knot. Inside was a palm full of familiar powder.

Iwaizumi stared at it, then slowly dragged his gaze back up to Semi. “Where did you get this?”

“I said no questions.”

“Why are you giving this to me?”

“Are you deaf?” snapped Semi. “Just take it. Analyze it or whatever the fuck it is that you people do. Just get it out of my face.”

Iwaizumi placed the bag on the couch beside him, carefully, as if expecting it to explode. He knew he wasn’t supposed to ask questions, and he knew Semi wouldn’t answer anyway, but he couldn’t prevent one more confused “Why?”

Semi glanced at Oikawa, who was unnaturally serious.

“Some idiot left it for me,” Semi said. He folded his arms and clenched his fingers around his sleeves. “I can’t make myself throw it away. If I keep it I’ll use it, and if I use it I won’t be able to stop.” His eyes skated to the side. “I’m three years clean. You probably don’t believe that, but it’s the truth.”

Oikawa looked at him, expression unreadable.

“I don’t want to be involved in any of this shit,” said Semi, “but I can’t get away from it unless I leave Shiratorizawa, and that job is all I have.”

Iwaizumi grasped the implication immediately. “So you know where it’s coming from.”

He didn’t expect an answer and was surprised when he got one.

“Yeah, I do,” said Semi. He looked up, defiant. “And I’m not telling you, so don’t bother. Arrest me if that’s what you think you need to do. It won’t make a difference. I’ll go down for it myself before I snitch.”

It was a crazy thing to say but Iwaizumi realized he was completely serious.

“So are we good?” said Semi. “Or should I expect you to show up at my door later with some of your cop buddies?”

Iwaizumi imagined just how excited Kuroo would be to hear this. He would jump at the chance to interrogate Semi again now that he could be sure that there was actually information to dig out of him. 

Iwaizumi had great respect for Kuroo, but despite his better judgment, he was starting to believe Semi when he said he wasn’t involved. Why else would he take the risk of delivering a bag of drugs to a police officer?

Unless this was all an elaborate scheme to make him look innocent. Maybe it was a plan that he’d worked up to get himself off the hook. Semi had been a hell of a criminal back in his day. He probably had a lot of tricks that Iwaizumi had never seen.

It was possible that this was an underhanded plot, but Iwaizumi doubted it.

“We’re good,” he said, watching the tension ease from Semi’s shoulders. “I’ll call it an anonymous donation.”

Semi snorted. “Yeah, whatever. That’s about 9,000 yen worth of moxie right there. You owe me.”

“Moxie?”

“That’s the street name for it,” said Semi with a shrug. “I could tell you exactly what’s in it but that’s what your fancy crime lab is for, right?”

His eyes strayed away from Iwaizumi and lingered on the bag of moxie. He looked at it with a quiet intensity, as if it was whispering a secret that only he could hear.

Abruptly he turned away and shouldered past Oikawa.

“I have to get back to work. I told Shirabu I’d only be gone for ten minutes. He’s going to be pissed.” He looked back over his shoulder at Iwaizumi. “If that detective comes knocking at my door asking questions about this I’m done with you, pig.”

Oikawa hissed something that Iwaizumi didn’t hear but Semi shrugged it off.

“I’m not going to tell him,” said Iwaizumi. He meant it and he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. “Thanks, Semi-san.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He left and the lingering silence was strangely empty.

Iwaizumi picked up the bag and shook the contents, watching the powder slide against plastic. 

“Iwa-chan?”

He looked up. Oikawa hovered near the opposite end of the couch, eyeing the drug. 

“Are you really not going to tell on him?”

Iwaizumi bounced the bag in his palm once before putting it aside. “No, I’m really not. I’m going to take this to Kuroo and tell him I found it. It’ll probably help Kyoutani. He’s training his dog to sniff it out and it’s going to help if they have a good sample.”

Oikawa sat on the couch beside him. He shifted close so their thighs were touching. “Thank you, Iwa-chan.”

“For what? Not taking your ex-boyfriend to jail?”

Oikawa’s nose scrunched in disgust. “Don’t call him that. It’s gross.”

“As your current boyfriend,” said Iwaizumi, wrapping an arm around Oikawa’s shoulders, “it would probably be in my best interest to arrest him. Then I would have less competition.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “As if, Iwa-chan. Semi is an asshole.”

“You do have a type, then.”

It took a moment for Oikawa to get the joke. Then he laughed and curled into Iwaizumi’s side, burrowing into his chest. “You’re a nicer asshole, though,” he mumbled. “I like you.”

“I like you, too. Even if your movies are shit.”

“It’s a good movie!”

Iwaizumi laughed into Oikawa’s hair. Then he glanced back at the bag of moxie.

He wished Semi’s interruption could have waited about an hour. He was fairly certain that his overloaded thoughts wouldn’t settle down enough for him to enjoy the filthy suggestions that had slipped from Oikawa’s mouth.

“Let’s skip back to where we stopped watching,” suggested Iwaizumi, reaching for the remote. “We can finish it properly. Okay?”

Oikawa looked up at him. “Are you sure? We don’t have to.”

“No, it’s fine. I want to watch you watch it. Your face lights up when you get excited.”

Oikawa flushed and snatched the remote out of his hand. “Shut up, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi laughed, sat back, and tried not to think about the lies he was going to tell Kuroo tomorrow.


	14. Chapter 14

Iwaizumi had never seen Kuroo get truly angry. It wasn’t his style.

The reason that Kuroo was such a good detective, and the reason that he’d been promoted to captain at such a young age, was his unshakable composure. A man waving an assault rifle could scream in his face and Kuroo would just look at him with that distant sideways smile. 

He was always collected and always composed, which was why it was such a shock when he slammed his fist against the wall right beside Iwaizumi’s face.

Still his voice remained calm, even as his eyes sparked with frustration.

“Are you lying to me, Iwaizumi?”

Iwaizumi swallowed and tried to remain as calm as possible. He glanced to the side, where Kuroo’s arm was still braced an inch from his face, and then slowly looked up at Kuroo. “Why would I? There’s no reason to lie about it.”

Kuroo stared at him for a long moment, long enough that Iwaizumi’s fingers twitched at his sides. 

Then he took a step back and Iwaizumi found himself able to breathe again.

Kuroo wandered back to his desk, which was only slightly less cluttered than it had been the last time Iwaizumi had been in his office. Kuroo picked up the bag of moxie and examined it closely. “You found it. That’s it. Just a coincidence.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Where?”

“In the bathroom at Shiratorizawa,” said Iwaizumi. It had seemed the most believable story since the club was already at the center of the investigation. Besides, it was very likely that it had been at the Swan Club before it had made its way to Iwaizumi. It wasn’t a complete lie; only ninety-five percent. “It was wedged inside a toilet paper roll, like someone was hiding it.”

“Why didn’t you call me last night?”

“After yesterday I really didn’t think you’d be eager to talk to me,” he said. “I looked for your detectives at the club but I couldn’t find any of them.”

That part was a gamble but it was the only thing that made the story believable.

Kuroo frowned down at the bag. “Kenma was there last night,” he said. “You should have found him.”

“I was there pretty late,” said Iwaizumi. “He might have left already.”

Kuroo didn’t argue but he didn’t seem convinced, either.

Kenma was the worst possible scenario. His talents were rooted in observation. He could sit in a room for ten minutes and know more about the people inside than someone who stayed for three hours. It was almost scary how much he picked up on, and Iwaizumi did not want to be on the receiving end of that skill.

Kenma would know Iwaizumi hadn’t been at the club. His only chance would be if Kenma had left at a reasonable hour, lending credibility to Iwaizumi’s story.

He wasn’t sure what he was going to do if Kuroo caught him in the lie. He couldn’t sell out Semi, not without burying himself even deeper. If Kuroo found out that’s who he was covering for then his job might be at risk.

With everything that was going on, it was already at a pretty high risk. Iwaizumi was being stupid and reckless, and he knew it, and still he couldn’t stop. 

“I guess I should just be grateful to have it,” Kuroo said with a sigh. “We’ve always just recovered traces or extremely small amounts. This is something we can actually work with.”

It sounded promising but Iwaizumi wasn’t ready to let his guard down.

“Listen, Iwaizumi. I need to apologize for the other day.” Kuroo rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, the bag still grasped in the other. “Not for investigating your friend. I mean, even you have to admit he’s shady. But I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it. That was kind of a dick move.”

He seemed genuinely apologetic, like he truly wanted to make amends.

But just as Kuroo Tetsurou had unbreakable composure, he was also an outstanding actor.

There was no way he had so easily accepted the story that Iwaizumi had fed him about finding the drugs. Kuroo wasn’t stupid enough to believe it without at least another dozen questions. He was pretending, just as he was pretending to regret their argument a few days before.

That was fine; Iwaizumi could pretend, too.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, shrugging it off. “I get it. I overreacted, too. Oikawa is a good friend and I just got a little defensive. I didn’t know that he and Semi knew each other back in Osaka. It is suspicious.”

Kuroo seemed to be pleased with the response, but again, it was difficult to be sure.

“Let’s put it behind us,” said Kuroo pleasantly. “The case is more important anyway. I’ll send part of this off to get analyzed. You were right about using it for Zeno, though. It’ll be great for tracking purposes.” He tucked the bag away in a large envelope and slid it into a desk drawer. “Thanks, Iwaizumi. Sorry for being a little… abrasive, I guess.”

That was one way to put it.

“It’s fine, Kuroo. This case is stressful for all of us.”

“You can say that again.” Kuroo sighed and slouched into his desk chair. “I swear I feel like I haven’t slept in a week.”

That likely wasn’t far from the truth. The shadows beneath his eyes had darkened.

“Let me know if you need me to take some of the burden,” said Iwaizumi. “Not regarding Oikawa, obviously, but anything else.”

Kuroo nodded. “Thanks, Iwaizumi. But you do deserve a day off, too.”

“I’d rather work around the clock and figure out this case. Three ODs are enough.”

“You’ve got that right. Ah, we got the bloodwork back from the third,” said Kuroo. He searched his desk for the paperwork, failed to find it amid the mess, and gave up. “The report is around here somewhere, but she had Xanax in her system, too. So the benzo theory is still solid.”

There was a tap at the door. Yaku stuck his head inside the office, eyes briefly lingering on Iwaizumi before sliding to the captain. 

“We got what you wanted,” said Yaku. “How far back do you want us to go?”

Kuroo considered, smiling a little at the news. “Go back three weeks for now,” he said. “That should be sufficient.”

Yaku nodded and backed out of the office. He left the door cracked slightly. In the distance Iwaizumi heard Lev’s voice raised in an excited shout.

“Another lead?” asked Iwaizumi.

“Probably nothing,” Kuroo shrugged. “Just covering all of my bases.”

That had been exactly what he’d said when justifying Oikawa’s interrogation.

Iwaizumi didn’t like the sound of it.

“So what do you have planned for your weekend off?” asked Kuroo, leaning casually back in his chair. “Going out tonight?”

Iwaizumi didn’t trust the question. “Yeah,” he said carefully. “Matsukawa and I are going to catch up.”

“How’s he liking Sawamura’s shift?”

Iwaizumi smiled a little, and it was only half fake. “He says they’re really intense. It’s not surprising if they’re anything like Kageyama.”

“Sawamura’s a good guy,” said Kuroo with a grin. “He’ll take care of Matsukawa. It’s weird that he decided to put in for that transfer so suddenly though. Doesn’t seem like him.”

He was fishing, and he was hardly even being subtle about it. 

“Mattsun just wanted a change,” said Iwaizumi with a shrug. “Can’t say I blame him. I’d get sick of me after so long, too.”

Kuroo chuckled. “Nah, you’re pretty easy to work with. Thanks again for the sample, though. It’s going to help us out a lot.”

That was a dismissal and Iwaizumi was grateful. “No problem. Like I said, let me know if I can do anything else.”

When he left the office he felt he could breathe a little easier. He didn’t let himself relax, though. It seemed that everything went well but with Kuroo he could never be sure. 

He passed by an open doorway, through which he saw two investigators staring at a video feed on a computer screen. One of them noticed him and beamed upon recognition.

“Sergeant Iwaizumi-san!” said Lev. “It’s good to see you again!”

Iwaizumi forced a smile. “You too, Lev-kun.”

Lev bounced a little in his chair. “Yaku-san, he remembers my name!”

Yaku shushed him with a backhanded slap to the chest. “Focus, Lev. This is a lot of footage to go through.”

Lev sighed and swiveled back to the screen. Yaku spared a glance over his shoulder and there was something in his face that made Iwaizumi pause.

“Be careful out there, Iwaizumi-san,” he said. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sentiment; officers tended to use it as a typical farewell. 

But there was something about the way he said it, as if he knew something that Iwaizumi didn’t.

“Sure,” he said uncertainly. “Thanks, Yaku-san.”

Yaku turned back to the screen but not before letting the stare linger.

Iwaizumi left the building feeling much more uncomfortable than he’d expected.

  
  
  
  
When Iwaizumi had said he was going out with Matsukawa, he hadn’t lied. 

He just hadn’t mentioned that Oikawa would be with them, or that they would be at the suspected source of the drug activity.

“Shirabu!” called Oikawa, waving wildly from where they sat at the end of the bar. “I need you!”

Semi was closer. He gave Oikawa a flat stare before disregarding him completely and filling another order.

Iwaizumi had thought that maybe since the two of them had bonded the night before that Oikawa would at least give Semi the privilege of preparing his drinks.

He was mistaken. 

“Why does it have to be Shirabu?” said Matsukawa, voicing Iwaizumi’s own question. “The other one is literally right there.”

“Shirabu makes it better,” huffed Oikawa. “Semi-chan is so bitter that it ruins the taste of his drinks.”

A few stools down Semi scowled. Clearly he could hear them.

It took a few more minutes for Shirabu to get to them. When he did he already had Oikawa’s specialty drink in hand.

“Shirabu, you’re the best,” Oikawa sighed, immediately tipping the drink back. When he put the glass back down he made a show of licking the sugar off of his upper lip. 

Iwaizumi wanted to do it for him.

“Then you should probably tip me every now and then,” said Shirabu without inflection. “Since you don’t even pay for your drinks.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Oikawa. “I know how well Ushiwaka pays you. I barely make more than you and I have to run an entire restaurant.”

“The difference is I’m good at my job,” said Shirabu with a little smirk.

Oikawa gasped. “How dare you.”

Shirabu looked from Matsukawa to Iwaizumi. “Do you guys need anything?”

“No thanks,” said Iwaizumi. “We’re good for now.”

Shirabu nodded and slipped away, expertly dodging Semi as he slid past with a tray full of shots.

“So,” said Iwaizumi, leaning closer to Mattsun as Oikawa busied himself with his drink. “Makki broke his nose on Monday.”

Matsukawa’s heavy-lidded eyes widened. “Shut up.”

Iwaizumi grinned and told the story. He conveniently left out the part where they’d argued about the source of Hanamaki’s distraction. 

They laughed at Makki’s expense and then Mattsun talked about his new shift. He liked Sawamura, although he insisted that Iwaizumi was, of course, a better sergeant. Hinata was a little much for him to deal with but Mattsun was beginning to get used to him. 

Semi came over to top up their drinks. Iwaizumi wondered if it would be awkward but Semi didn’t treat him any differently than usual. That meant he wasn’t particularly friendly, but he wasn’t rude, either. 

Iwaizumi drank his beer slowly, listened to Oikawa make jokes about the people on the dance floor while refusing to go dance himself, and gradually became aware that someone was watching him.

He turned around slowly, not wanting to make it obvious. The precaution was wasted. Even when he met the sharp golden gaze the observer didn’t look away.

Iwaizumi’s stomach sank. 

It was Kozume Kenma.

He offered a polite nod and turned back around, grip tight around his glass, extremely aware that he’d been sitting beside Oikawa all night. That was bad enough in its own way considering that Kuroo was suspicious of him, and the fact that Semi was serving him drinks didn’t help.

He tried to recall if he’d made any inappropriate contact with Oikawa since they’d arrived. He’d almost shoved him off of his stool for a stupid joke but that wasn’t indicative of a relationship. They hadn’t held hands or anything overtly romantic, no matter how frequently Iwaizumi had felt like pulling Oikawa in for a kiss. 

They hadn’t been obvious but he had a sinking feeling that Kenma would know anyway. Somehow he always picked up on _everything_.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa nudged him with his elbow. “Is something wrong?”

Iwaizumi flinched away from him, ramming his shoulder into Matsukawa. “No,” he said, too quickly. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”

Oikawa raised his eyebrows. Iwaizumi stared down at his beer and hoped Oikawa would just let it go.

Matsukawa had followed his gaze but didn’t look concerned about Kenma’s presence. He had nothing to hide, after all.

Before Iwaizumi decided whether he’d be better off just to leave, a strange pressure fell over the club. It was hardly detectable at first. The music was still blaring, preventing the atmosphere from becoming too dampened. It actually took Iwaizumi a moment to place what was wrong. 

Beneath the beat of the music the drone of overlapping conversations had ceased. The clubgoers had gone quiet.

Iwaizumi, immediately on edge, swiveled on his stool to seek the source of the shift.

It wasn’t difficult to find.

Kuroo stood at the front entrance of the club in full uniform, flanked by two investigators and Kyoutani Kentarou. 

“Fuck.” The word fell out of Iwaizumi’s mouth without his consent. 

Tendou had stopped them at the door and was discussing something with Kuroo, who offered him a folded piece of paper and a smile. Kenma wandered over to stand beside Kuroo, dwarfed by his captain’s height.

Kenma nudged Kuroo and stood on his toes to tell him something. Kuroo’s eyes immediately darted across the bar to find Iwaizumi, whose breath caught in his throat.

Kuroo grinned before turning back to Tendou and pushing the paper into his hand. With clear reluctance Tendou headed toward the bar, a nervous skip in his step.

“He wants the boss,” he said as he passed Shirabu and Semi, both of whom had come to a full stop. “Search warrant.” 

He disappeared through the back door. Shirabu watched him go, then resumed the drink order he’d been halfway finished with. Semi remained frozen for a long moment. When he thawed he gave Iwaizumi a look of such heat that he felt he would melt right off his stool.

“Stop it, Semi-chan,” said Oikawa. “He didn’t do anything.”

“You don’t know that,” snapped Semi. “You don’t know anything about him. He could still be using you, Oikawa. Use your fucking brain for once.”

“Both of you shut up,” said Iwaizumi. He tried to stay calm because he knew neither of them would be able to. He leaned across the bar, very conscious of Matsukawa sitting beside him. “They brought a canine unit. Semi, you gave me all of it, right? You didn’t keep any here?”

Semi looked surprised by the question, and a little suspicious. He glanced up at the officers who still waited politely by the door. “Yeah,” he said, barely moving his lips as he spoke. That was probably for the best. If Kenma was looking this way he’d know exactly what was being said. “I gave you all of it.”

Iwaizumi just hoped he wasn’t lying. If so, things were about to get a lot more complicated. He glanced at Mattsun, who looked between them in confusion. That was going to be a whole new problem but he could deal with it later.

“Stay here,” he said to Oikawa before sliding off the stool. “Don’t talk to anyone.”

“Iwa-chan, don’t.”

“It’s fine. Just do what I say.”

He crossed the club, which was made easy by the freshly sober atmosphere. The dancing had stopped, and the crowd seemed discomfited by the police presence. Iwaizumi supposed having the police show up was enough to put a damper on even the most festive of occasions.

Kuroo didn’t seem surprised to see Iwaizumi. In fact he seemed almost smug.

“Sergeant Iwaizumi,” he said in greeting. “I’m glad you’re here. We might be about to crack this case.”

Iwaizumi glanced at Kyoutani, who fidgeted behind the other investigators. Zeno wasn’t with him. He must have left him in the car until they were granted access.

Much like Kyoutani, Zeno didn’t like being in close crowds like this.

“I was unaware that you were having Officer Kyoutani put in overtime,” said Iwaizumi. “I didn’t receive the request.”

“You’ve had enough to deal with,” said Kuroo dismissively. “I took care of it. I didn’t want to interrupt your night out, after all.” His eyes darted to the corner, where Mattsun and Oikawa sat with a stool between them. 

Iwaizumi felt the tension in the air just as tangibly as he still felt Kenma watching him. Kuroo suspected something. Whether it was the nature of his relationship with Oikawa or perhaps that Iwaizumi was actually involved in the case, it was clear that he was treading lightly.

Iwaizumi wanted to scream.

Yaku, who stood just behind Kenma, was also looking at him. He still wore the same inscrutable expression from earlier but it didn’t seem quite like suspicion.

The man beside him was Kai Nobuyuki. Apparently Lev hadn’t made the cut for this outing.

“Are you searching the entire building?” asked Iwaizumi, because he had to say something.

“Only the back rooms,” said Kuroo, “that are employee-accessible. And maybe the bathroom, since that seems to be a popular place to stash drugs.”

Iwaizumi knew that was a direct blow. He fought to keep his temper in check.

A few minutes later Ushijima strode through the crowd. The patrons had grown a little less anxious and were beginning to return to their prior activities, but Ushijima had no problems moving through the press of people. He had the presence of a shark. Everyone moved out of his way automatically, as if the alternative was to be eaten alive.

Tendou followed on his heels, unusually serious.

“Detective,” said Ushijima politely. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. I definitely did not expect to see you at ten o’clock on a Saturday night when my business is at its peak.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” said Kuroo in an almost believable display of humility. “I’m afraid I didn’t have a choice. I will do my best not to disturb your clientele. I only need access to the rear part of the building. If you can let us in through the back then no one will even know we’re still here.”

Ushijima surveyed the cluster of officers. Then his gaze dipped briefly to Iwaizumi.

“You brought a warrant,” stated Ushijima, “so I suppose I have no choice.”

“Sorry,” said Kuroo again. “We won’t be long. We brought our best canine to speed up the process.”

Ushijima may have twitched. If he did it was so quickly that Iwaizumi couldn’t be sure.

“Very well,” he said. “I will meet you at the back entrance in just a moment. Please be brief.”

Kuroo snapped off a salute. Iwaizumi recognized it as sarcastic but Ushijima didn’t seem to grasp it.

Ushijima started back toward the bar, still shadowed by a nervous Tendou, and Iwaizumi didn’t know who he was supposed to follow.

“Do you want to tag along?” asked Kuroo, as if sensing his indecision. “You can’t participate since you’ve been drinking but you can at least see how it plays out.”

The offer was made with a touch of humor, like Kuroo was trying to connect with him.

Iwaizumi’s voice was flat when he said, “Sure. Let’s go.”

He followed them into the parking lot, sparing a quick glance over his shoulder as he stepped through the door.

Three sets of eyes were on him, but Semi’s burned the most brightly of all.

Iwaizumi had a bad feeling about this.

They stopped in the parking lot only long enough for Kyoutani to get Zeno out of his SUV. Zeno was a 45-kilogram German Shepherd that looked like his favorite pastime was tearing out throats. As far as Iwaizumi knew the dog had never hurt anyone, but he had no doubt that Zeno wouldn’t hesitate if Kyoutani gave him the command.

Zeno walked docilely at Kyoutani’s side with his ears perked, eager to participate.

Ushijima opened the back door before Kuroo could even knock. 

“Please don’t damage anything,” said Ushijima. “If you need access to any locked rooms let me know.”

“Thank you, Ushijima-san,” said Kuroo. “Your generosity is appreciated.”

He waved Kyoutani forward and then backed up, giving him room to enter the building. Kyoutani wrapped the leash around his fist, setting his grip. Then he knelt beside Zeno to speak into his ear, words that Iwaizumi couldn’t understand. It was probably German or some related language. Their police dogs weren’t trained to respond to Japanese.

When he stood, the two of them zipped into the first room. Zeno pulled on the leash and Kyoutani kept his pace, looking almost as eager as the dog.

Kyoutani had become a fairly decent patrol officer, one that Iwaizumi could be proud of. It was the times that he worked with Zeno that he truly shone. He was the best canine officer that Iwaizumi had ever seen.

Which meant if Semi had anything to hide it was definitely about to be found.

“You seem uncomfortable,” said Kenma quietly. 

Iwaizumi almost startled. He hadn’t noticed his approach.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I just wish I’d known this was happening so I could’ve helped.”

“You’ve done enough,” said Kuroo. “Like I said, hopefully this will be over tonight anyway and we can all relax for once.”

Kyoutani and Zeno popped out of that room and slipped into the next. 

Ushijima stood idly by, arms crossed, watching the action with stern interest. He didn’t seem particularly worried. 

Then again, even if he’d been on the brink of an anxiety attack, Iwaizumi wasn’t sure it would have been visible on his face.

Kyoutani cleared that room and dived into the next, and Iwaizumi found himself thinking they weren’t going to find anything.

Then a raspy bark echoed through the hallway.

Kuroo’s mouth curved into a grin. He was inside the room before Iwaizumi even moved. Ushijima followed, but the other investigators remained at the back door. 

Iwaizumi approached slowly, uncertain if he was even allowed. He peered around the doorway to find what appeared to be a break room. There was a scuffed table with an assortment of chairs, a refrigerator and microwave against one wall, and a stretch of metal lockers against the other.

That was where Zeno’s interest had been captured. He was lying on the floor, tail sweeping quickly back and forth, muzzle pointed at one of the middle lockers.

“That one,” said Kyoutani, pointing it out as if there could be any mistake. “Who uses it?”

They all looked to Ushijima. His brow creased even further as he frowned at the locker. “That one… is Semi’s.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for that cliffhanger last week, guys. >.<
> 
> And while I'm deeply sorry, it's not going to be the last one.

Ushijima wouldn’t allow them to search the locker until Semi was present. He thought it was only fair that he be there when the police looked through his possessions.

When Semi stepped into the room he didn’t look anxious; only inconvenienced. 

It was only when Kuroo turned away to open the locker that Iwaizumi saw a flash of panic in Semi’s eyes.

Kyoutani pulled Zeno back to give Kuroo space. The captain started sifting through the locker’s contents and piling them on the floor. There was an empty lunchbox, a neatly folded change of clothes, and a plastic bag containing an odd assortment of plasticware, chopsticks, and bottlecaps.

Kuroo arched an eyebrow over his shoulder at Semi, who just shrugged. “Are you done?”

“Not quite.”

There was a jacket crumpled at the bottom of the locker. It was bright, vivid purple, a shade that Iwaizumi would never have expected to see on Semi. He seemed more reserved in his clothing choices. Kuroo grabbed the jacket and started searching through the pockets. 

Iwaizumi saw Semi tense, his jaw clenching tightly and his fingers curling into loose fists. 

Kuroo discarded the jacket, satisfied that it was clean. There was a battered textbook at the very bottom of the locker. He held it up and tapped the cover. “Mathematics?”

“I’m getting my GED,” said Semi through gritted teeth. “Are you _done_?”

Kuroo hesitated, scanning the inside of the empty locker as if he could have missed something. Then he stood and dusted his hands off on his uniform pants. “Sure,” he said. “I’m done. Sorry for the inconvenience, Semi-san.”

Semi just scowled. 

“You wouldn’t mind if the dog did a quick sniff of you, right?” said Kuroo conversationally. “It’ll only take a second.”

Semi’s stare was flat. “I don’t have anything on me.”

“Then you don’t have a reason to say no.”

Semi crossed his arms, hands still balled into fists, and gritted out, “ _Fine_.”

Kuroo looked almost disappointed by the agreement, but he gestured to Kyoutani anyway. Zeno did a quick circle around Semi, his nails clicking against the faux wooden floor. When he was finished he sat neatly at Kyoutani’s side, ears perked for further instruction.

Kuroo didn’t look pleased. “Let’s keep it moving,” he said, nodding toward the door. “There are still some more rooms left.”

He and Kyoutani stepped into the hall, and Ushijima dutifully followed after them.

When they were gone Semi dropped his arms to his sides, fists clenched so tightly that they shook.

“Fuck,” he hissed. He stomped over to his locker and started cramming his possessions back inside. “If they’d come yesterday instead… _goddammit_.”

Iwaizumi picked up a bottlecap that had rolled across the floor and held it out. Semi glared at him for a moment before taking it and tossing back inside the bag. 

“Were you keeping the moxie here?” asked Iwaizumi quietly.

Semi glanced at the empty doorway. “This is where it was left. I found it during my break.”

“Zeno can probably still smell it,” said Iwaizumi. “He’s got a good nose.”

“Fucking dog,” said Semi. He slammed the locker shut with too much force. The metallic crash made Iwaizumi wince. “Are they searching people, too? Or just the building?”

“Just the building I think,” said Iwaizumi. “I don’t really know. I didn’t even know they were coming.”

Semi stared at him with such intensity that Iwaizumi expected to catch flame.

“Fine,” he finally said, folding his arms with a huff. “Think they’ll come to my apartment?”

“I don’t think they can,” said Iwaizumi, “unless they have more evidence that they haven’t told me about. They don’t have probable cause to get a warrant signed. Why? Would they find anything?”

“Fuck you,” said Semi. “I just don’t want the police digging through my shit. It’s an invasion of privacy.”

They stood quietly for a few minutes. Iwaizumi strained his hearing, waiting for another bark.

“You probably shouldn’t be seen with me, you know,” said Semi. “If the detective didn’t tell you about this search he might already think you’re being sketchy.”

It was true but Iwaizumi didn’t like hearing it.

“Yeah, I know.” He started toward the door. 

“Hey.”

Iwaizumi hesitated.

Semi glanced away, scowled, and said, “Thanks for not ratting me out. Oikawa said you wouldn’t but I didn’t believe him.”

Iwaizumi felt something sickening churn in his stomach. He thought maybe it was guilt. He was keeping the confidence of a convicted felon rather than feeding all of his information to the captain of investigations. He didn’t know when his priorities had become so fucked up.

He wanted to blame it on Oikawa but couldn’t bring himself to do it. The responsible thing would have been to break things off with Oikawa after Kuroo had interrogated him. If Iwaizumi valued his job then that was the only viable option.

Instead he’d somehow wound up here, slinking out of the break room and hoping no one had noticed he’d lingered to speak with Semi.

Iwaizumi had fucked up and now he didn’t know how he was going to get out of it unscathed.

He could always cut ties with Oikawa now and hope for the best, but the thought of that made him even more nauseous.

Oikawa really was going to kill him.

The search ended about half an hour later. Kuroo talked with Ushijima for a while as the other officers waited at the back door. Zeno sat patiently at Kyoutani’s feet, accepting the scratches behind his ears with a lolling tongue.

Iwaizumi hovered nearby, feeling inexplicably out of place.

He wondered if Kuroo would forgive him if he spilled Semi’s secrets now. It might be too late but it would be better than waiting even longer.

Kuroo finally wrapped up his conversation and offered Ushijima a parting handshake. He approached the small group with a grin but Iwaizumi could tell he was disappointed underneath the polished façade.

“Well guys, let’s head out,” he said, leading the way back to the parking lot. 

Kyoutani broke away to load Zeno back to his cruiser. Yaku and Kai branched off to their respective vehicles and Kenma stayed on Kuroo’s heels like a shadow.

“I really thought we’d get him,” Kuroo mused. “He’s definitely hiding something. It’ll be pointless to do this again, though. Now he knows it’s coming. He’ll find somewhere else to stash it.”

Iwaizumi wanted to point out that Kuroo still had no concrete evidence that Semi had done anything wrong, but wisely kept his mouth shut. 

“Maybe he’ll slip up,” said Iwaizumi, “now that he’s nervous.” He said it to appease Kuroo. It was the proper thing to say, even though Iwaizumi didn’t believe his own words.

“Or he’ll just be more careful.” Kuroo cocked his head to the side. “What did you think about him, Kenma?”

Kenma had been looking at Iwaizumi, but now he studied the ground instead. “He looked nervous. Jittery.”

Kuroo pondered that. “Keep an eye on him, Iwaizumi,” he said. “Since you seem to spend a lot of time here. Two nights in a row, huh?”

Iwaizumi was confused for only a brief moment before he remembered his story about finding the moxie. “Yeah, well, I told you before. Mattsun likes it here and I don’t mind it so much.”

“I guess your friend Oikawa likes it here, too.”

Iwaizumi had to consciously stop himself from sounding defensive. “Yeah, he does.”

Kuroo eyed him for a moment. Then he hitched on a smile and said, “Well, I’m glad I ran into you. Too bad it didn’t turn out better. I have another lead I’m working on anyway, maybe something will come of it.”

“I hope it does,” said Iwaizumi. “See you Monday, Kuroo.”

Kuroo gave him a cursory wave and started toward his unmarked cruiser. Kenma followed and hopped into the passenger seat. Apparently he was finished with his nightly observations.

Iwaizumi probably should have headed home. Instead he wandered back into the club.

Tendou wasn’t watching the door anymore. Kawanishi had replaced him and he nodded at Iwaizumi as he entered.

The atmosphere had returned in full force, as if the police had never arrived at all. Iwaizumi made his way back to the far end of the bar where he’d left Mattsun and Oikawa. Only one of them was still there.

Mattsun looked up at him as he hopped onto a stool. “They find anything?”

Iwaizumi shook his head. 

“Too bad,” said Matsukawa. He swirled his drink around, watching the liquid splash against the glass. 

Iwaizumi knew he was thinking about the strange conversation he’d witnessed between Iwaizumi and Semi. He just hoped he didn’t ask about it. He didn’t like lying to Matsukawa. “Where did Oikawa go?”

“Bathroom I think,” said Mattsun. “He seemed a little stressed out by the police. It was kind of weird.”

Iwaizumi looked over at him but Matsukawa was still swishing his drink. He was thinking too hard and it made Iwaizumi anxious.

“Makki texted me,” said Mattsun, finally looking up.

Iwaizumi was a little relieved. That was a safer thing for Matsukawa to dwell on. “What did he say?”

“He just wanted to see how I was doing on my new shift,” he said. “I told him it was fine. He said good. That was it.” Matsukawa sighed and threw back the rest of his drink in one gulp. “It was awkward, Iwa. Nothing has ever been awkward with us. I mean fuck, we used to jerk off together to cheesy porn when we were seventeen. How is anything awkward after that?”

He gestured for Shirabu, who was pouring a drink nearby.

Iwaizumi just stared at him, wondering if he was going to be permanently traumatized by that visual.

Even he had never done anything _that_ gay.

Oikawa returned a few minutes later, after a fresh drink had been delivered to Matsukawa. Iwaizumi had turned down the offer of a new beer. He didn’t think alcohol was a good friend for him at this point in his life.

Oikawa rubbed his hand along Iwaizumi’s shoulders as he moved to his seat. Iwaizumi almost pulled away, then reminded himself that Kenma was gone.

“Hey,” said Oikawa softly, leaning close. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You look tense.”

“And you disappeared. Are _you_ okay?”

“I’m fine,” said Oikawa. He smiled a little, as if trying to be convincing. “I was worried about Semi-chan but he came back so I’m guessing it’s fine.”

Iwaizumi looked past him. Semi had returned to his bartending duties with only a slight tremble in his fingers. Tendou was leaning over the bar, talking quietly to Semi as he shakily mixed a drink.

“They thought there was something in his locker,” said Iwaizumi carefully, unsure of how much to reveal, “but Kuroo searched it and didn’t find anything.”

Oikawa drummed his fingers on the bar. “That’s good, then.”

“Why were you worried,” said Iwaizumi, “if you’re sure he isn’t doing anything?”

The drumming stopped. Oikawa cut a sideways glance at him. “No offense, Iwa-chan, but police aren’t always impartial. I thought they might try and plant something so they could blame it on him.”

“Kuroo wouldn’t do that.”

“You can’t know that for sure. People will do anything if they get desperate enough.”

Iwaizumi scowled but didn’t argue. Mattsun didn’t appear to be following their conversation, which was fortunate.

After a moment Oikawa sighed. “I’m sorry, Iwa-chan.”

“For what?”

Oikawa slumped a little and rested his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Everything, I guess. I shouldn’t have let Semi come over. I didn’t think about how hard it would make things for you. I was just trying to help.”

Iwaizumi wanted to be mad, but couldn’t even pretend properly. He ran his fingers through Oikawa’s hair once and let his hand fall back to his side. “It’s okay.” 

“Do you think they’ll still come after him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think they’ll come after me?”

“I don’t know.”

Oikawa grumbled. “I thought police officers were supposed to be smart.”

“I agreed to be your boyfriend. Apparently I’m not that smart.”

“Iwa-chan!”

He couldn’t fight his smile and their easy banter returned. Matsukawa even perked up after ingesting enough alcohol to forget that Hanamaki had contacted him.

It wasn’t the worst night of Iwaizumi’s life. 

But as he fell asleep later with Oikawa pressed against his bare chest, he couldn’t help but feel that things were about to get a lot worse.

  
  
  
  
There was another death three days later. It happened in the middle of the night, while Iwaizumi was asleep in Oikawa’s bed. He found out the next day when he went in for an evening shift.

Kuroo hadn’t called him. Iwaizumi was half relieved and half bitter.

It was a male this time. Twenty-six years old, discovered at a bar a few blocks away from Shiratorizawa. That wasn’t enough to deter Kuroo from his certainty that Semi was at fault. He theorized that the man had bought his drugs from the Swan Club and used them at the other bar. 

In fact, Kuroo was positive that was what had happened. Semi was getting anxious now, he said. It was logical that he would insist his customers not use their freshly purchased drugs on the premises in an attempt to allay suspicion.

It was a sound theory and Iwaizumi desperately hoped it wasn’t true.

Due to recent occurrences, Iwaizumi vowed not to return to Shiratorizawa. It wasn’t worth it now that he could see Oikawa outside of the club. It was something he should have decided weeks before. It would have saved him a lot of trouble.

Now when they wanted to go out they would typically spend time at Sapphire Grove. It wasn’t the Swan Club, but it did meet Oikawa’s primary requirement for an outing, which was free alcohol.

The downside was that the longer they stayed, the more likely it was that Oikawa would end up working.

“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa groaned. He was draped bonelessly over the host counter. “I forgot I gave them the night off. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Iwaizumi leaned against the wall, staring at the large tank of fluttering fish. “You were probably being nice for once.”

“Probably. How awful.”

Iwaizumi snorted. “You’re being dramatic. It’s not so bad. You only have to work a little longer.”

“The last reservation is at nine,” said Oikawa. He checked his watched and whined. “Thirty minutes, Iwa-chan. I can’t do this for thirty more minutes.”

“You’re literally just walking people to their tables,” said Iwaizumi. 

He had no idea how Oikawa managed to run a successful business.

“But it’s such a hassle! I should pull Ennoshita out of the kitchen and make him do it. He’s friendly.”

“Just suck it up, Shittykawa. Stop complaining, it’s not a good look for you.”

“I don’t know why you’re so mean to me when I made you feel so good last night.”

Iwaizumi felt his cheeks heat up but he rolled his eyes and pretended he was unaffected. 

The door opened and Oikawa perked up immediately, like a puppet whose strings had been yanked. His sociable smile lasted only a moment before flickering into dread.

Kuroo strolled into the lobby and looked around with a raised brow. “Nice place,” he said. He was dressed casually, hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans. When he finally looked at Oikawa he blinked, as if surprised to see him there. “Oikawa Tooru. Fancy meeting you here.”

“This is my restaurant,” said Oikawa, putting on a razor-sharp smile. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

“I thought it was Ushijima’s restaurant.”

Oikawa’s smile only sharpened. “Technically.”

Kuroo’s eyes flickered to Iwaizumi, but before he could speak, Oikawa said, “Do you have a reservation?”

“Unfortunately, no.” The door opened again and Kuroo glanced over his shoulder at the middle-aged couple who entered. “But I’m sure these lovely people do. I’ll wait.” He stepped to the side and ushered them past. They smiled at his politeness.

It was obvious that Oikawa was furious, but he managed to put on a more believable smile for the customers. 

Iwaizumi saw straight through it.

Oikawa took a pair of menus and led the couple into the dining room, throwing a sharp glance at Iwaizumi before he was out of sight.

“Kenma said you haven’t been hanging around Shiratorizawa lately,” said Kuroo conversationally. “I thought maybe you’d decided to cut some ties.” He glanced at the archway through which Oikawa had disappeared. “But he said Oikawa hasn’t been there much either, so I figured maybe this is where you’d gone.”

Anger spiked in Iwaizumi’s veins and he tried to tamp it down. It wouldn’t be good to lose his temper now. Kuroo was still his superior. He was still outranked.

“Am I being investigated now?” he asked, his voice surprisingly level.

“Of course not,” said Kuroo. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then why are you tracking me down?”

“I need to ask you something. Something you probably want to keep private. I figured it would be best to discuss it outside the station.”

Iwaizumi’s heart rate kicked up a notch. “What is it?”

Kuroo looked at the archway again. “We should probably step outside.”

That sounded like a bad idea, but having Oikawa overhear whatever Kuroo wanted to discuss would probably be even worse.

The two of them stepped onto the sidewalk. The foot traffic was fairly sparse. Kuroo folded his arms and drummed his fingers against his bicep. “This is going to come off as rude,” he said, “so I hope you don’t take it badly.”

“What?”

Kuroo hesitated, almost as if he really didn’t want to ask. “Where did you really get the drug, Iwaizumi?”

“I already told you.”

“Yes, you did. And you lied. I’d like to know the truth now.”

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure what to say. If Kuroo had any real proof it would be best for him to admit it now. But there was a chance that he was bluffing, and if so, it would be best to stand his ground and insist he’d found it.

“Don’t try and think your way out of it,” said Kuroo. He spoke quietly, his voice absent of accusation. “Just tell me the truth, Iwaizumi. You owe me that.”

Iwaizumi still hesitated. When he finally spoke the words were careful. “Why do you think I lied?”

Kuroo heaved a sigh. He looked disappointed. “You got it from Semi, right? He brought it to you at Oikawa’s apartment.”

Iwaizumi tried not to react but couldn’t help it. He went rigid, eyes flashing to Kuroo. “What?”

Kuroo frowned. He didn’t look any more pleased with the conversation than Iwaizumi was. “We got access to the security cameras at Oikawa’s apartment complex. Yaku and Lev have been watching the tapes to see if he’s been meeting with Semi. We saw you and Oikawa go in, and then Semi came up a little bit after that.” He paused. “In fact we saw you there quite frequently, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi didn’t acknowledge the implication. He couldn’t. “What about Semi?”

“He was only there the one time,” said Kuroo. “There aren’t any cameras around Semi’s place, though, so we can’t be sure Oikawa isn’t going there.”

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything. He was afraid of incriminating himself.

“Is that what happened, then?” Kuroo pressed. “Semi brought it to you?”

There was really no point in lying now. Even if he denied it Kuroo wouldn’t believe him.

“He said he found it,” said Iwaizumi. “He didn’t know what to do with it. He was afraid if he kept it he’d end up using it. I was trying to help him.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

“Because you’re already convinced he’s guilty!” said Iwaizumi. He realized his voice was a little too loud and toned it down. “I thought you’d arrest him when he was just trying to do the right thing.”

“As far as you know.”

“Yeah, as far as I know.”

Kuroo hesitated. It was a long pause, one that made Iwaizumi uncomfortable. When Kuroo finally spoke it was worse than the silence. “How long have you been sleeping with Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi felt himself go pale. “How long… what?”

“I’m not stupid, Iwaizumi. How long?”

His instincts told him to argue, to deny it until he was literally out of breath. But Kuroo’s face made it clear that this wasn’t a guess. He really did know.

Iwaizumi swallowed and tried to pretend his career wasn’t slipping through his fingers. “A little over a month.”

Kuroo nodded. “That’s what I figured.”

Iwaizumi waited. He expected some sort of disgust, or a proclamation that Iwaizumi might as well resign now and save them the trouble of finding a reason to fire him.

But Kuroo was silent, and Iwaizumi finally spoke. “How did you know?”

“You’re not exactly subtle,” said Kuroo with a crooked smile. “I’ve known since the day I called him in for an interview. When you bit my head off in the hallway afterward it was pretty obvious.”

Iwaizumi’s stomach churned with regret. He’d been so _stupid_.

“Hey,” said Kuroo. He gently gripped Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

Iwaizumi wondered how bad he must have looked to earn Kuroo’s pity.

“Who else knows?”

“Just me,” said Kuroo. “And, well, Kenma figured it out from watching you at the club. And apparently Yaku and Lev know because when I mentioned that you seemed to go to Oikawa’s apartment pretty often Lev started babbling and Yaku hit him to shut him up.”

At least Yaku had tried. 

“If you’re worried about the gay thing,” said Kuroo, “don’t be. It’s not a big deal. I mean, we’ve all hooked up with guys before as an experimental thing, right? It’s fine.”

Iwaizumi stared up at him, baffled.

“But if you’re worried because you’re dating one of my suspects,” said Kuroo, “then yeah, that’s something you should be concerned about.”

“He hasn’t done anything,” said Iwaizumi. “Really.”

“I hate to be the one to say this, but did you ever think that maybe Oikawa is using you for protection? Like, he thinks if he’s hooking up with a cop then he’s going to be safe?”

Iwaizumi almost laughed. If he had, though, it would have been in a hysterical manner and he probably wouldn’t have been able to stop. His nerves weren’t exactly in peak condition. “No, I haven’t thought that. Although if it’s any consolation he did ignore me for an entire week because he thought I was using him for information.”

“This would be a lot easier if you were.”

“There’s no reason to. He doesn’t know anything.”

“I know that you really believe that,” said Kuroo, “which is the only reason I haven’t turned all of this over to the chief.”

A pit of dread opened in Iwaizumi’s stomach. “Have you considered it?”

“After I figured out where the drugs came from, yeah. I really did.”

“What stopped you?”

Kuroo looked at him. “Do you think Semi is guilty?”

“No.”

“That’s why,” said Kuroo. “Because you really believe that. If I thought you were just covering for him or for Oikawa then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You were trying to do what you thought was right. Even if it wasn’t.”

“Kuroo…”

“I’m not going to take this to anyone,” said Kuroo, “because I don’t want you to get in trouble. And we both know this would probably cost you your job.” He breathed a sigh. “But I don’t want you to have anything to do with the investigation anymore. If you find any information give it to me immediately. Don’t look into anything on your own and don’t talk to anyone on your own. I would tell you to stay away from Oikawa for your own safety but I don’t think it would do any good.”

“No,” he said, “it wouldn’t. He’s my boyfriend.” It was the first time he’d said it and the word tasted strange on his tongue. “Oikawa really isn’t doing anything wrong, Kuroo. I’m with him all the time. I’ve never noticed anything suspicious.”

“If he spends any time at all with Semi,” said Kuroo, “I’m going to keep suspecting him anyway. You did get the memo that they used to be together, right?”

“I know. That was a long time ago.”

“You know, if Semi had stayed at Oikawa’s apartment for any longer I would’ve assumed you were having a threesome.”

Iwaizumi gawked at him. “What the _fuck_?”

Kuroo started laughing and it was only then that Iwaizumi realized he was joking. “Sorry,” said Kuroo between chuckles. “Couldn’t help it.”

Iwaizumi probably would have laughed too if he hadn’t been so completely traumatized by their entire conversation. 

“Anyway,” said Kuroo, shaking off the humor, “I just felt like we needed to talk. I like you, Iwaizumi. You’re a good man and a good officer and I’ve always respected you. I don’t agree with what you’re doing here – and I don’t mean the gay part, I mean the consorting with suspected criminals part – but I still respect you. Just watch your back, okay? And like I said, pull off of the investigation. If anything related happens just call me and I’ll be there. And I promise if I have to call your boyfriend in for another interrogation session I’ll tell you first.”

He was trying to be nice about it, but Iwaizumi was still a little too bitter to completely accept the underhanded apology. “You won’t have to call him in. He hasn’t done anything.”

Kuroo raised his hands, as if he was giving up. “I hope you’re right, Iwaizumi. I’m going to head out. Have a good night, alright? See you soon.”

“Bye, Kuroo.”

He waited until the captain was out of sight before he slipped back into the restaurant. 

Oikawa was leaning on the counter but as soon as he saw Iwaizumi he was on his feet, almost frantic. “What happened?” he demanded, circling around the counter. “Did he say anything? Does he think I did something? Am I going to jail? Are you in trouble?”

Iwaizumi ignored the questions. He grabbed Oikawa’s face and kissed him.

Oikawa mumbled a protest against Iwaizumi’s lips but he didn’t struggle away. He wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi’s waist and pulled closer. 

When they broke away Iwaizumi rested his hands on either side of Oikawa’s face and just looked at him. “I think I almost just lost my job,” he said. “But I didn’t.”

Oikawa looked concerned by Iwaizumi’s behavior. “That’s… good?”

“I also just told someone you’re my boyfriend,” said Iwaizumi, “and I liked it.”

Oikawa blinked once, then his mouth curved into a smile. “You’re such a sap, Iwa-chan. Was he jealous? He was jealous, wasn’t he?”

Iwaizumi snorted and kissed him again. “Shut up, Shittykawa.”

“Wait, though,” said Oikawa, suddenly serious. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” he said. “He knows Semi gave me those drugs now, but I think that’s okay.”

Oikawa’s eyes went wide. “How did he know that?”

“Apparently there’s a security camera in the outside hallway of your apartment. He’s been watching us.”

Oikawa was shocked, but that quickly dissolved into resentment. “Is that even legal?”

“As long as they got permission from the owner of the building, yeah, it is.”

Oikawa huffed. “Well maybe we should go back to my place and give them a show,” he said, mood shifting into something seductive. He leaned closer to Iwaizumi with a smirk. “You can fuck me against the wall. Maybe they’ll learn to mind their own business.”

Iwaizumi imagined the horrified look on Yaku’s face. Lev might even experience long-term trauma.

For a moment, Iwaizumi actually considered it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise mid-week update! I didn't want you guys to have to wait a full week between this chapter and the next. You'll understand why. 
> 
> I apologize in advance.

A week passed, and the number of police reports involving the mystery drug called moxie tripled.

Iwaizumi had assumed that after the search of Shiratorizawa the presence of the drug would die down. That would have been logical. If the police were getting closer then the culprit should have pulled back and kept his head down.

The unknown suspect was either really bold or really stupid.

“I literally had to drag a guy out of the middle of the street,” said Matsukawa. His eyes looked heavier than usual, weighed down by exhaustion. “He was so high out of his mind that he didn’t know where he was. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t weighed about a hundred kilos.”

“If you wouldn’t skip so many gym nights you wouldn’t have a problem,” said Iwaizumi. He sat back and took a drink of his beer, trying to drown his own frustration.

Every day he went to work and read over the reports filed by the investigations division. Over a quarter of them had something to do with moxie; someone was arrested for possession of it, or someone had been found high on it, or someone was in the hospital from an overdose of it. He knew all of this was happening but only on a surface level. He couldn’t get any of the gritty details because Kuroo had cut him off. 

Iwaizumi had arrested a woman two days before who’d had a small amount of moxie, and instead of questioning her about it, he’d been forced to call Kuroo and allow him to take over. 

It was maddening, and knowing that he couldn’t do anything about it was killing him.

“Our schedules don’t line up now,” said Mattsun with only a faint wisp of regret. “I’m going to have to find a new friend to work out with. Maybe I can tag along with my new sergeant and copy his leg day routine. Have you seen his thighs?”

“No, I haven’t seen Sawamura’s thighs.” Iwaizumi scraped up his last bite of pasta. It was the special at Sapphire Grove that night and Suga had recommended it highly. He couldn’t say he was disappointed.

They were at a table tucked away in the corner of the balcony, almost exactly where he and Oikawa had sat on their first date. Oikawa had been eating with them until he’d gotten called away to handle a crisis. 

Iwaizumi realized that everyone else’s idea of a crisis was distinctly different than that of someone in law enforcement.

“How’s Hanamaki doing?” asked Matsukawa, looking steadily at his empty plate.

“He seems fine. He hasn’t broken anything else, so that’s good. I guess you haven’t heard from him again?”

Matsukawa shook his head. “No, but it’s fine. As long as he’s doing okay.”

Iwaizumi had hoped that the two of them would manage to work things out for the sake of their friendship, but the longer that time stretched on, the more he was beginning to think it wasn’t going to happen.

“I’m back,” announced Oikawa, dropping into the seat beside Iwaizumi. He immediately slumped to the side, leaning against Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Crisis resolved.”

“What even happened?” asked Matsukawa. He was probably grateful for the distraction. Whenever he brought up the subject of Hanamaki he preferred the conversation to last less than twenty seconds.

Oikawa heaved a sigh. “One of the fish died,” he said gravely. 

They both stared at him. “That was the crisis?” asked Iwaizumi.

“No. The crisis was that Tadashi is the only host working tonight.”

“And…?”

“And it was a dead fish, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi and Matsukawa looked at one another with matched bemusement.

“He can’t work in the lobby if there’s a dead fish in there with him,” explained Oikawa. “So we had to get the lid off of the tank, which is actually a lot harder than it sounds. Then we had to get the dead one out, and the other fish kept getting in the way, and we couldn’t find the net so we had to use a spatula. And the dead one was at the very bottom of the tank so it was hard to reach and-”

“A spatula?” said Iwaizumi, interrupting the overly dramatic retelling. “Please tell me that didn’t go back to the kitchen afterward.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “This establishment has a perfect sanitation score,” he said. “Don’t insult me, Iwa-chan.”

“Did you try CPR on the fish?” asked Mattsun. “Underwater CPR?” 

“Can I finish the story or not?”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “It’s not that interesting.”

Mattsun nodded in agreement.

Oikawa scooted his chair slightly away from Iwaizumi and pouted. “You guys aren’t fun. If you keep being mean to me I’ll make you pay for your food.”

They shared a look and Iwaizumi shrugged. “Worth it.”

In the middle of Oikawa’s subsequent complaining, Iwaizumi’s phone buzzed. He reached for it, tuned out the sound of whining in his ear, and planned to reject the call. He’d received three calls in the past hour from the same unknown number. He assumed it was some sort of telemarketing scheme and he didn’t have time to deal with it. 

This time, however, it wasn’t an unknown number, and he took the call.

“Hey, Makki.”

Oikawa stopped talking and Matsukawa went stiff.

“Iwaizumi, thank god,” said Makki. His voice was a little too loud, a little too breathless. “Where are you?”

“I’m having dinner. What’s wrong?”

“I’m leaving Shiratorizawa right now,” said Makki. 

Iwaizumi’s heart rate immediately rose. Something had happened. Someone else was hurt, or had maybe died. 

Before he could ask, Hanamaki continued. “I was looking for you. I thought you’d been hanging out there a lot.”

“Makki, what happened?”

Hanamaki’s breath was loud in his ear. “Nothing. I just… Where are you?”

“Sapphire Grove,” said Iwaizumi, sparing a glance at his companions. 

Oikawa listened to the conversation with clear curiosity. Matsukawa was staring at his plate again. 

“Is Mattsun with you?” said Hanamaki.

Iwaizumi hesitated. “Why?”

“Iwaizumi, come on. Is he?”

Iwaizumi glanced up. Matsukawa still wasn’t looking at him. “Yeah.”

There was a pause on the other end. Hanamaki was almost panting, out of breath. Iwaizumi wondered if he was running.

“Okay,” said Makki, the word too airy. “Okay, thanks.”

The call ended and Iwaizumi stared at his phone, as if it would explain to him the parts of the conversation that he’d failed to understand.

“Is something wrong?” said Oikawa. 

“I have no idea.”

At that Matsukawa finally looked up, a flash of concern in his heavy eyes. 

Iwaizumi tried not to worry. After all, if Makki had been in trouble, he would’ve said so. Even if someone was listening in he could’ve requested help in code. No one would have known.

His primary concern was that Makki had sounded like he was in motion and it wasn’t difficult to guess where he was going.

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure if he wanted to see an encounter between Hanamaki and Matsukawa. At the rate they were going it wouldn’t end well.

He wanted to warn Mattsun, to give him a chance to slip out of the restaurant and avoid Makki. But something about it felt wrong, as if that would mean he was choosing sides, as he’d so vigorously decided not to do.

Although, it was fairly clear that he had heavily leaned toward Matsukawa in this particular argument. He hadn’t had dinner with Makki in two weeks and they hadn’t gone out for drinks for even longer.

Still he kept his mouth shut and led the conversation into safer territory for about five minutes. 

Then Suga approached with a panting Hanamaki on his heels.

“I think this belongs to you,” Suga told Iwaizumi, waving Hanamaki forward. “He said he knows you.”

Hanamaki took a step closer to the table. He glanced at Matsukawa, who was still studying the very interesting edges of his empty plate, and then paused to catch his breath.

Makki was a wreck. His face was red from exertion, hair sticking up in unruly tufts. A faint shimmer of sweat glistened on his forehead and Iwaizumi’s suspicion that he’d been running was confirmed.

Iwaizumi felt his tension spike as he waited for some horrendous news that was, unlike Oikawa’s recent situation, an actual crisis.

When Hanamaki’s breathing had returned to near normalcy he said, “Mattsun. I need to talk to you.”

Matsukawa finally looked up, although it probably wasn’t intentional. His name in Makki’s voice was something he hadn’t heard in so long that it startled him into eye contact.

As soon as their eyes met he looked away again, this time focusing on a point somewhere between Iwaizumi and Oikawa. “Okay.”

It wasn’t much of an agreement but it wasn’t a rejection, either.

Hanamaki hesitated, chest still rising and falling a touch too quickly. He hadn’t looked away from Matsukawa since he’d approached the table.

“Makki?” said Iwaizumi, genuinely concerned. “Are you okay?”

“No,” said Hanamaki, not even looking at him.

Makki took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for a dive. Then he planted a knee in the vacant chair beside Matsukawa, seized him by the shoulders, and yanked him into an abrupt kiss.

Oikawa made a choked sound of surprise and Iwaizumi’s jaw dropped. 

It could have been romantic. The fountain bubbled nearby, the scent of wine was on the air, and violin music filtered through hidden speakers. It could have been an easy way for the two of them to mend their friendship, and perhaps embark on a deeper relationship. 

Iwaizumi almost expected it. He expected Matsukawa to return the kiss, to fall into the embrace of the man he’d been pining for.

Instead Matsukawa shoved Hanamaki away with such force that he stumbled over the empty chair and tripped. 

Hanamaki hit the floor and sprawled, stunned.

Matsukawa rose from his chair and scrubbed the back of his hand over his mouth, as if wiping away any lingering traces of his friend. “What the _fuck_ , Makki?”

Hanamaki’s expression was somewhere between surprise and hurt. He shook his head and managed a feeble scowl. “Don’t ‘what the fuck, Makki’ me. What the _fuck_ , Mattsun?”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Why the fuck did you push me?”

“You kissed me, you asshole!”

“You’re supposed to kiss me back! That’s how this works!”

Matsukawa stared down at him blankly. “Why are you doing this?”

Finally, for the first time since his arrival, Hanamaki looked away. He lowered his head and said, “I miss you, Mattsun.”

Iwaizumi was afraid that if he breathed too loudly he would disrupt the atmosphere. Oikawa seized Iwaizumi’s sleeve and leaned closer, fixated on the exchange.

For a moment Matsukawa remained blank. Then anger flickered onto his face and he said, “If you miss me then you should have called me, you idiot! Don’t pull this shit with me. I’m not doing this, Makki.”

“I don’t know what the problem is!” said Hanamaki. He got a leg under himself and staggered to his feet. “I thought you wanted me to kiss you. Wasn’t that the entire point of the confession?”

It was a good thing that none of the other balcony tables were occupied.

Matsukawa stared at him. Then he looked over at Iwaizumi, as if seeking support. When there was no forthcoming advice, he stepped past Makki and started toward the stairs.

“Mattsun, wait.”

There was no answer.

“Mattsun. Mattsun!” He seized Matsukawa’s arm and wrenched him around. “What’s your deal?”

Matsukawa slapped his hand away. “You’re my deal, Makki. You can’t ignore me for a month and then expect everything to be okay. And fuck you. I confessed because I wanted you to know how I felt. I don’t want your fucking pity. I don’t want you to do this because you feel guilty, you asshole. Just leave me alone.”

Hanamaki grabbed him again before he could take another step, hands fisting into the front of Matsukawa’s shirt. “Just wait,” he said, almost desperately. “Listen to me, Mattsun. Please.”

Matsukawa still looked like he wanted to walk away but Makki was unrelenting.

“I don’t feel guilty. I mean, I kind of do, but that’s not why I’m doing this. I miss you, Mattsun. I didn’t think I’d miss you this much.”

Matsukawa knocked his hands away. “I told you we could still be friends. It’s not my fault.”

“I know that,” said Makki quickly. “But I don’t want to be friends.”

Matsukawa looked like he’d been slapped through the face.

Hanamaki backpedaled quickly. “No, I mean… I do, but not… I want to be your friend, but I also… I think… I want to be more than that, too.”

Oikawa gasped and clutched Iwaizumi’s sleeve more tightly, excitement glinting in his eyes. “ _Iwa-chan_ ,” he whispered, delighted. Iwaizumi shushed him.

Matsukawa took a step back. “No, you don’t. Stop it.”

“No, I’m serious. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I... I want to try it.”

“Makki, stop being stupid.”

“Why is it stupid? You’re the one who wanted to do this.”

“And you don’t, and it’s fine. I told you it was fine.”

“Well it’s not fine,” said Makki. “Nothing that’s happened is fine. Not talking to you this long isn’t fine.”

“Then you should’ve fucking talked to me.”

“I know,” said Hanamaki. “I’m sorry. Let me give you an apology kiss.”

Matsukawa pushed him away again, a little more gently. “Stop it, Makki. This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“So seriously kiss me.”

“No.”

“Mattsun, please.”

“No.”

“ _Mattsun_ …”

“Iwa-chan, make them kiss,” hissed Oikawa.

“Shut up, Trashykawa.”

Hanamaki released his death grip on Mattsun’s shirt. He reached up for Matsukawa’s face and cradled it in both of his hands. “Listen,” he said, voice suddenly soft. “I’ve thought about it a lot. I was freaked out at first and I’m sorry. I overreacted. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance but please give me one. I’m not joking around here, Mattsun. You know me better than that.”

Matsukawa looked back at him, eyes slightly downcast. “Don’t do this if you don’t mean it, Makki. Don’t make it worse.”

“I mean it. I really, really mean it.” He inched a little closer, still holding Matsukawa’s face. “I promise, Mattsun.”

Matsukawa swallowed. He was visibly conflicted, heavy brows knotted, mouth turned downward. But his hands moved to rest on Hanamaki’s waist, the contact barely there. “I’m just worried you’re a bad kisser.”

Hanamaki smiled, some of the worried creases smoothing away from his face. He leaned in to kiss Matsukawa and this time he wasn’t shoved to the floor.

Matsukawa kissed him back, raising a hand to rest against the side of Hanamaki’s neck. 

They kissed like they’d done it a thousand times, like they hadn’t gone a month without speaking. 

Oikawa slapped Iwaizumi in the chest and pointed, as if he was going to miss it.

Iwaizumi pushed him away and pressed a hand over Oikawa’s mouth to contain whatever drivel was about to spill out. 

When the kiss ended the two of them just looked at each other. The eye contact was prolonged and even more intimate than the kiss.

Then Hanamaki cracked a smile and Matsukawa quickly had one to match.

“I’m so stupid,” said Makki. He dropped his forehead onto Matsukawa’s shoulder. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Mattsun. I should’ve known.”

“It’s fine.” Matsukawa rested a hand between Makki’s shoulderblades. “I probably shouldn’t have told you like that. Maybe if I’d just ambushed you with a kiss it would’ve worked.”

Hanamaki snorted and looped his arms around Mattsun’s waist. “Sorry I ignored you. I was freaked out and I didn’t know what to say.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Matsukawa.

“Wanna come to my place?”

“Mine’s closer.”

“Yeah, okay.”

They dropped the embrace and Matsukawa finally remembered the existence of his friends. “I’m going to head out,” he said, as if he hadn’t already made that abundantly clear. 

“Just like that,” said Iwaizumi. He was a little surprised that it had happened so easily, but he shouldn’t have been. Makki and Mattsun had always been that way. It had been bad judgment for him to doubt them. 

His hand finally dropped away from Oikawa’s mouth, which was a mistake.

“Makki-chan!” he said, too loudly. “I thought you didn’t like men.”

Hanamaki shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said simply. “But I like Mattsun.”

Matsukawa draped an arm over his shoulders with a lazy grin.

Iwaizumi already knew the two of them were going to be unbearable.

“Just let it go,” said Iwaizumi, before Oikawa could pry further. “I’m happy for you guys. Use protection, okay?”

Matsukawa and Hanamaki exchanged a look.

“Do you have condoms?”

“Nope.”

They looked back at Iwaizumi, expectantly.

Oikawa mimicked them, confused.

After a moment of staring, Iwaizumi gave in with a sigh. He leaned forward to pull his wallet out of his back pocket. He dug out a condom and tossed it across the table. Makki caught it with an easy smile. “Thanks, sarge.”

“Iwa-chan,” said Oikawa, “please tell me you don’t actually carry condoms in your wallet.”

Iwaizumi scowled at him. His cheeks were a little too warm. “I’m prepared, Shittykawa.”

“Prepared for what? To pick up a stranger on the street?”

“No, I’m prepared to fuck you in the back room of this restaurant.”

Oikawa blinked, eyes going wide. 

Hanamaki unobtrusively tucked the condom into Matsukawa’s pocket.

“Well you kids have fun,” said Mattsun, his arm still across Makki’s shoulders. “We have things to do. See you later.”

“Later,” Makki echoed. 

The two of them started toward the stairs at a matched pace and Makki’s arm slithered around Mattsun’s waist. 

Iwaizumi still didn’t understand how it could be that easy. 

He didn’t have much time to consider because then Oikawa was breathing in his ear, a hand resting on his thigh. 

“Iwa-chan,” he murmured, lips brushing Iwaizumi’s earlobe. “Did you really come here with bad intentions?”

Iwaizumi shifted in his seat, turning so he could face Oikawa. He was prepared to make some sort of joke but the heat in Oikawa’s gaze stopped him. Instead he shifted forward and kissed him, one hand slipping into Oikawa’s hair. 

“I always have bad intentions with you,” said Iwaizumi against his lips. “It’s your fault.”

“I take full responsibility,” said Oikawa. His hand traveled a little further up Iwaizumi’s thigh. “We can’t go in the back room but I do have an office. It’s kind of small, but it’s big enough for you to fuck me over my desk.”

Iwaizumi bit down on a muffled groan, the imagery making heat race to his groin. “I’ll settle for the office, then.”

They didn’t make it to the office.

At this point Iwaizumi shouldn’t be surprised.

His phone rang again and he seriously considered tossing it over the rail of the balcony. If he didn’t, Oikawa would probably do it for him.

“Why do you hate me?” said Oikawa as Iwaizumi reached for the phone. 

“Shut up,” muttered Iwaizumi halfheartedly. He would’ve made a further comment but the flash of Kuroo’s name on the screen scattered all other thoughts.

He didn’t want to answer it. He didn’t want to talk to Kuroo. Things between them had been awkward over the past week, although Kuroo had kept his word and not told anyone else about Iwaizumi’s situation. 

Mostly they’d avoided one another, so Kuroo calling him couldn’t be a good thing.

“I don’t like him,” said Oikawa, peering at the screen. “Don’t answer it.”

“I have to.”

“But Iwa-chan…”

Iwaizumi gave Oikawa a final lingering kiss and then took the call. 

“Iwaizumi,” said Kuroo. It only took those four syllables for Iwaizumi to pick up on the frenetic energy in Kuroo’s voice, though he couldn’t hazard a guess at the source. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Victim number three woke up,” said Kuroo. There was a bustle of sound in the background, motion and overlapping voices. “She pulled out of the coma.”

“Is she alright?”

“Huh?” said Kuroo, as if he wasn’t expecting the question. “Oh, yeah, she’ll be fine. I asked her about what happened and she remembers. She knows where she got the drug.”

Iwaizumi’s heart was in his throat. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling excitement or dread. Probably an unhealthy blend of both. “Yeah?”

There was a pause on the other end, broken only by the distinct sound of a rifle slide. Iwaizumi’s pulse jumped.

“I need you on standby at the station,” said Kuroo. “I’ve called in the SWAT team but I want you on hand, just in case.”

He skirted around the information and it made Iwaizumi want to know even less. 

Oikawa slipped his fingers between Iwaizumi’s, sensing his distress. 

He squeezed Oikawa’s hand lightly and said, “Who is it, Kuroo?”

There was one more decade-long pause, then Kuroo said, “It’s Semi. We’re going after him.”


	17. Chapter 17

During his time as a police officer, Iwaizumi had experienced situations that were so innately stressful that the average individual would have broken beneath the pressure.

About a year ago there was a hostage situation at a large corporation, the incident provoked by a snubbed employee. Their hostage negotiator was out of town training for, ironically, hostage negotiation. Iwaizumi was the officer on scene with the most experience because their sergeant hadn’t yet arrived. It was too dangerous to wait so he’d stripped himself of his weapons and talked to the hostage taker himself. He’d half believed he was going to die but he’d kept his composure and busied the suspect until the other officers could scrape together a plan.

A few months ago he’d been the first to arrive on scene for a shooting. The victim was drowning in a pool of his own blood, barely coherent, but begging to be put out of his misery. He’d flailed around with waning energy as Iwaizumi attempted to sit him upright, to prevent him from suffocating. His hands slid all over Iwaizumi’s face, leaving smears of warm, slippery blood. The metallic stench almost made Iwaizumi sick, and from prior encounters with the man he already knew that he was HIV positive, which was transmittable by blood. Still, Iwaizumi had kept him upright until EMS had arrived, his focus unwavering, his composure never fraying.

But now, as he waited at the station for any news of the raid on Semi’s apartment, Iwaizumi couldn’t stop pacing.

The hallway that connected all of the investigators’ offices was long; exactly 29 steps long. Iwaizumi had counted those steps repeatedly, the incessant pacing peppered by a scatter of texts. The majority of them were from a concerned Oikawa. Iwaizumi hadn’t told him exactly what was happening or that Semi was involved. He was still hoping that Kuroo was wrong and the truth would be discovered sometime during the raid. 

He also received a text from Makki and Mattsun. It was a picture of them sitting on Mattsun’s couch, wearing matched flat expressions, the condom pinched between Makki’s bared teeth. It was meant as a joke, and if Iwaizumi had room for a sense of humor beneath all of his anxiety, he would have found it funny.

He’d known even when supplying the condom that it wouldn’t be used; not that night, anyway. Hanamaki and Matsukawa could put on a good show but he was certain that their nightly activities would consist of cuddling on the couch, talking about their newfound feelings, and probably crying a little. Even so, by tomorrow they would have constructed a detailed account of how they’d participated in the best sex of their lives.

They were idiots and Iwaizumi loved them.

He received another text from Oikawa, a picture of a slightly cluttered desk with the caption “next time ;)”, and he figured he probably loved Oikawa, too.

He must have if he was this stressed over the apprehension of a felon, one who was, by all accounts of the evidence, the guilty party in this investigation.

Iwaizumi shouldn’t have been so concerned. Semi was nothing to him, really. He was a good bartender but it wasn’t as if they were friends. 

He was also the ex of Iwaizumi’s current boyfriend. That should make Iwaizumi even more eager to see him go down for these crimes.

As he paced the hallway he tried to drum up some malicious feelings; anything, really, that would help ease the tension of the situation. 

It didn’t work.

In the distance the back door slammed. 

Iwaizumi froze, listening, and heard a buzz of voices, soon accompanied by multiple heavy footsteps. He leaned against the wall, shoulder braced against the plaster, and waited.

The metallic clink of handcuffs blended into the new sounds.

Iwaizumi started toward the back of the building, forcing himself to maintain a slow pace. He couldn’t seem flustered by this. He had to scrape up that unyielding composure that made him a good officer. He couldn’t let anyone see him as anything other than a strong, solid presence. 

He slipped through the doorway into the block of rooms that were used for interrogations. This was where Kuroo had questioned the second victim’s girlfriend, and Semi, and Oikawa. 

He stepped into the hall just in time to see Kuroo open the door of an interrogation room and push Semi inside.

Semi stumbled a little. He was in shackles, too. The silver chain linked his ankles, preventing him from taking a full stride. Matching cuffs bound his hands behind his back, making his movements awkward. 

Despite the restraints, it still seemed there was something off about the way Semi moved. He was a little too off-balance. Iwaizumi wondered if something had happened during the raid when they’d apprehended him.

“Sit your ass down,” said Kuroo, a rare heat in his voice. “We’ll get to you later.”

Semi said something to him but the words were jumbled and Iwaizumi couldn’t decipher them from where he stood.

Kuroo just scoffed and shut the door without a response. 

Iwaizumi felt like the floor had dropped from beneath him. He shouldn’t care so much. It had been stupid to get his hopes up for someone like Semi, who had been convicted of nearly identical crimes in the past. For Iwaizumi to get involved was a recipe for disaster.

Yet he had done just that, and he’d been so convinced that it was the right thing. He’d been so convinced that Semi was innocent, that Oikawa was right.

Iwaizumi had let his personal feelings interfere with his career. He’d known better, and he’d done it anyway. 

He tried to be angry with Oikawa but couldn’t scrape up any negative feelings toward him at all. This wasn’t Oikawa’s fault. Iwaizumi could only blame himself.

“Sergeant,” said Kuroo, as Iwaizumi approached. “Thanks for coming in so quickly.”

It had been over an hour since Kuroo’s call but Iwaizumi didn’t point that out. “It’s not a problem.” He stopped outside the interrogation room and peered through the window. Semi had slumped into one of the chairs. He leaned slightly forward, teetering in his seat, looking dazed. “What’s wrong with him?”

Kuroo snorted and the sound was pure condescension. “He’s high as fuck. Pretty sure he’d just snorted a line when we went in. He was still holding the straw.”

Iwaizumi tried to conceal his surprise. He looked back at Semi, who swayed slightly in his seat. “What’s he on? Just the moxie?”

“Moxie?” asked Kuroo.

Iwaizumi realized too late that he shouldn’t have said that. He met Kuroo’s sharp, expectant stare. “The new drug,” said Iwaizumi, trying not to sound sheepish. “That’s the street name for it, right? Moxie.”

Kuroo said the word again, as if testing it on his tongue. Then he shook his head and looked away from Iwaizumi. “I’ve been on this investigation for months and I’ve never even heard a name for the drug. I can take a guess where you got your information, though.” He nodded toward Semi, as if that explained everything.

Iwaizumi wisely kept his mouth shut. He felt like he’d been reprimanded. He still expected to lose his job to this debacle.

“It looked like that was all he’d used,” said Kuroo, belatedly answering the question, “but it’s not hyping him up like some of the other users we’ve ran into. Maybe he cut it with something else or maybe it affects him differently since he’s been an addict for so long. We asked, but he wasn’t exactly cooperative. I don’t know if the drugs are affecting him that much or if he’s just being an asshole. Maybe both.”

“Has he admitted to anything?”

“Kind of,” said Kuroo. “On the way here he just kept saying ‘I did it’. He wouldn’t elaborate, but even if we got a confession out of him right now it wouldn’t stand up in court. I’m leaving him here until he sobers up. Then I’ll have a talk with him.”

In the room beyond, Semi slumped forward and rested his head on the table. He looked extremely uncomfortable with his hands trapped behind his back. 

“You could’ve kept him in the drunk tank for a while.”

“No,” said Kuroo. “I want him here where I can keep an eye on him. Well, not me, because I’m going back to the scene. Lev’s on his way. The rest of us are going to keep searching the apartment. We haven’t found shit but I know he has to have a stash there somewhere.”

They stood for another minute, both watching Semi, whose occasional twitch was the only indication that he was still conscious. 

“I’m sorry, Iwaizumi,” Kuroo finally said, all of the intensity sapped from his voice. “I know you wanted this to turn out differently. You know people don’t change. He was a criminal before, he’s a criminal now. That’s just how it is. He’ll get another prison sentence and then he’ll be out doing the same thing. It’s how it works.”

Iwaizumi didn’t answer. He didn’t have anything to say to that. He didn’t have anything to say to Kuroo at all right now. 

The door at the opposite end of the hall opened and Lev burst through. He was a bundle of long limbs and excitement strapped into black tactical gear. 

“Captain!” he acknowledged. Then he saw Iwaizumi and quickly added, “Sergeant!”

Kuroo waved him over and clapped a hand on Lev’s shoulder. Seeing someone like Kuroo dwarfed by one of his young officers would have been comical at any other time. Right now Iwaizumi couldn’t really find humor in anything.

“You’re in charge of the suspect, Detective Haiba,” said Kuroo, the title spoken with only a touch of sarcasm. Lev didn’t seem to catch it. “Don’t take your eyes off of him. If anything happens call me immediately.”

Lev snapped off a salute. “Yes, captain!”

Kuroo stepped away from him. “Sorry again, Iwaizumi. But as soon as we find the drug stash we’ll close this case and move on. It’s better for everyone.”

Iwaizumi tried not to sound bitter when he said, “Yeah, okay.”

Kuroo gave him a parting nod and then headed out, speaking into his radio as he stepped through the door.

Lev bounced a little on the balls of his feet as he peered intently through the window. He was obviously excited about being given an assignment. Iwaizumi doubted that Kuroo had ever trusted the kid with anything serious.

Watching an unmoving suspect for an indefinite amount of time didn’t seem like a favorable assignment to Iwaizumi, but clearly Lev disagreed.

Iwaizumi sighed and resigned himself to a long night. He pressed his back against the nearest wall and sank down into a sitting position.

Lev seemed surprised. “Are you staying, Sergeant Iwaizumi?”

“Yeah,” he said, although there was really no reason for him to do so. It was over. Semi was in custody and it was only a matter of time before Kuroo found the evidence needed to put him back in prison. Still, he felt like he should be there. This case had dragged him so low that he needed to see it through. 

Besides, as soon as he left he would feel obligated to call Oikawa, and he didn’t want to have that conversation just yet.

Despite Iwaizumi’s resigned attitude, Lev seemed thrilled to have company.

“You should’ve been there for the raid!” said Lev, turning away from the window. “It was awesome! He wouldn’t answer the door so Kuroo-san kicked it in. Like, he literally kicked the door in. It was so cool! And then we went in and it was all intense, like in the movies. Only the guy was just sitting there, so we didn’t get to chase him or anything, which would’ve been fun. And at the end Yaku-san told me I did a good job! And I know he meant it because usually he tells me I suck.”

Lev kept talking about the raid and Iwaizumi half-listened, responding during the appropriate pauses for the sake of courtesy.

Iwaizumi felt like absolute shit, but that wasn’t Lev’s fault. 

The excitement of the retelling was exhausted about forty-five minutes later. Lev leaned against the wall, blinking lazily at the window. He seemed burned out, like the burst of energy had drained him. 

“I’m so tired now,” said Lev, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn. His fingers reached the ceiling. “How long do you think they’re going to be? Yaku-san said he’d keep me updated. I guess they haven’t found anything. It was a small apartment, though. I don’t know what’s taking so long.”

Iwaizumi sat up a little straighter. His legs were stiff from sitting in the same position and he was pretty sure his back was going to hurt tomorrow. “Do you guys have a coffeemaker in here?”

Lev perked up but then immediately deflated. “Yeah, but it’s in the secretary’s office. I don’t have a key.”

Iwaizumi had an idea.

It wasn’t a good idea. In fact, he should have expelled it from his mind immediately and thought nothing more about it.

He knew he shouldn’t do it but he found himself saying, “Hey, isn’t there a little coffee shop at the end of the block?”

Lev’s eyes brightened wistfully. “Yeah. They have great mocha lattes.”

Iwaizumi staggered to his feet, stiff muscles protesting. He fished out his wallet for the second time that night, but instead of a condom, he pulled out his credit card. “How about you run down there and grab us some drinks?” he said, offering his card to Lev. “My treat.”

Lev’s eyes were bright when he reached for the card but he hesitated, fingers outstretched. He looked over his shoulder at the interrogation room. “Kuroo-san told me I have to watch him.”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “I don’t mind keeping an eye on him for a few. It’s the least I can do. You guys have put in a lot of good work tonight. Kuroo said you did really well.”

Lev lit up like a Christmas tree and Iwaizumi immediately felt bad for the lie. “Really? He said that?”

Iwaizumi forced a smile. “Obviously. He wouldn’t trust you with the suspect if he didn’t think you did well.”

Lev beamed. “Awesome! I always try really hard but I always kind of mess up. Maybe I’m going to start doing better now.”

“Yeah, looks like it,” said Iwaizumi. He moved his card a little closer to Lev’s fingers. “Just get me a black coffee, alright? And order whatever you want. You deserve it.”

Lev took the card with a grin. “Ten-four, Sergeant Iwaizumi! I’ll be back quick.”

“Take your time,” said Iwaizumi, waving him off. “I don’t mind.”

Lev scampered through the back door with a chirped promise that he would guard the credit card with his life.

Then Iwaizumi was left alone with Semi.

He knew it was a bad idea. He knew, even as he approached the door. He knew, even as he slipped inside the room. He knew, even as he crept close to Semi, whose head still rested on the table.

If Kuroo played back the cameras later he would see what Iwaizumi was doing. It would be a hassle trying to explain himself, but Iwaizumi thought he could do it. Luckily the cameras only recorded video unless programmed otherwise. The audio recording was only initiated during an interrogation.

“Semi?” said Iwaizumi, his voice low.

Semi didn’t react.

Iwaizumi circled the chair to find Semi’s face. His eyes were half-open but unfocused. A crust of dried blood circled one of his nostrils and his lip was split right down the middle.

“Semi,” he repeated. He reached out and gently shook his shoulder. “Hey, Semi. You alright?”

Semi blinked a few times, very slowly. Gradually his eyes started coming into focus but they were still distant. He sat up and the angle of his arms looked even more awkward.

“Don’t move, alright?” said Iwaizumi. 

There was no response.

Iwaizumi dug out his keys and knelt beside Semi’s chair. Nestled beside the key to Iwaizumi’s apartment was a small metal handcuff key that he carried in case of emergencies. This wasn’t exactly an emergency, but he fitted the key into the left side and worked the metal cuff open. 

He kept his grip firm on Semi’s right hand as he maneuvered his arms and recuffed him in the front, giving him a better range of motion. Semi sat back with a sigh, flexing his fingers in his lap. The handcuffs had already started biting into his wrists. They were rubbed raw and Iwaizumi wondered if they would bruise.

Semi raised his head and he seemed to be gaining a little more awareness of his surroundings. Iwaizumi circled the table and dropped into the chair across from him. “You alright?” he asked again.

Semi’s jaw moved, as if he was rolling his tongue along the roof of his mouth. Then he said, the words thick, “Yeah, I think.”

Iwaizumi sighed, surprised by his own relief. “What happened to your lip? Did you struggle when they arrested you?”

Semi slowly raised his hands and pressed a clumsy fingertip to his lower lip, cuffs clinking. His brows furrowed. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. I know I didn’t fight the police, though.”

Iwaizumi stared at him. Then he said, carefully, “Semi, are you high?”

It took Semi a moment to register the question. Then a slow smile spread over his face, his glazed eyes narrowing. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m so fucked up.” He chuckled, and the sound put Iwaizumi on edge.

“I thought you didn’t use anymore,” he said. “You told me you’ve been clean for three years.”

Semi’s smile dulled. “Well not anymore.”

“What were you thinking?”

Semi sniffed and pursed his lips. “I was thinking I wanted to get high. It’s the same thing I’m always thinking. Only usually I stop myself. This time I couldn’t.”

Iwaizumi didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know why he was having this conversation at all. “You know, I really believed you,” he said quietly. “I stood up for you because I thought you didn’t have anything to do with this. You fucking fooled me, Semi.”

Semi’s eyebrows pulled together again. He looked troubled. “You said they didn’t have enough evidence to come to my apartment.”

“They didn’t,” said Iwaizumi. “But then one of the victims woke up and told the investigators that you’re the one who sold her the drugs.”

Semi blinked again, visibly confused. “I didn’t sell anyone drugs.”

“There’s no reason to lie now. It’s over.”

The confusion didn’t abate. “’M not lying. I haven’t sold drugs since Osaka.”

“Then where’d you get the moxie?”

Semi’s stare was almost vacant. “It was left for me in my locker again.”

“Then why didn’t you give it to me like last time?”

“I tried,” said Semi dully. “I kept trying to call you but you wouldn’t answer. And it was right there in front of me and I haven’t used in so long and I couldn’t help it.” He hitched another lazy smile. “It was so good, Iwaizumi. So fucking good.”

Iwaizumi just stared at him. His mind had drifted into ubiquitous static, chewing at the threads of his thoughts. 

He’d received three calls from an unfamiliar number and had ignored all of them. 

“How’d you get my number?” he asked, because the pointless question was easier than talking about how he was responsible for Semi’s current state.

“Oikawa,” said Semi simply. He sniffed and rubbed his nose on his shoulder. 

“Why didn’t you call him instead? He would’ve told me.”

Semi shrugged and the handcuffs rattled. “Didn’t want to talk to him. He thinks I’m pathetic enough already.” He tilted his head back and stared blankly at the ceiling. “He’s right, though. I fucked up.”

If Iwaizumi had just answered his _fucking phone_ …

Iwaizumi clenched his hands into fists and told himself that Semi was probably lying. He’d just been arrested. He was a convicted felon, and he was currently in custody, and a victim had identified him as the man who’d sold her the drugs that had launched her into a coma. There was no reason for him to believe a single word that came out of Semi’s mouth.

Except he did believe him. He believed him completely and he didn’t know why.

“You’re good for Oikawa,” said Semi, belatedly adding onto his thought. “You make him happy. I never could. He always bitched at me for the drugs and I always bitched at him for bitching.” There was a long pause. Semi looked away from the ceiling to focus on Iwaizumi and there was something heavy in his eyes. “I hit him once,” said Semi. “I was fucked up and he wouldn’t stop fussing over me and I hit him. It was the only time I ever did it. That was when he left me. I was glad because I got busted a week later. We lived together, and with all the shit they found in the house, he would’ve gone down with me.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth was dry. He wasn’t sure what affected him more; the thought of Oikawa living so miserably or the heavy regret that weighed Semi’s words. 

“Semi,” said Iwaizumi. His mind was reeling. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what the right thing was, or if he could even do anything at all. He felt disoriented. “I didn’t know you were the one calling. I just…”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. It’s not your fault I’m just a fucking junkie.” Semi laughed and it was the most self-deprecating sound Iwaizumi had ever heard. “I brought this on myself. It’s what I deserve.”

“But you’re not the one who’s been selling?” said Iwaizumi, needing to hear the confirmation one more time. “You haven’t done any of this?”

Semi shook his head, slowly. “No. It doesn’t matter, though. I’ll go down for it anyway. It’s okay.”

“It’s okay?” said Iwaizumi. “What do you mean it’s okay?”

“I don’t mind anymore,” Semi shrugged. “It’s for the best.”

“For the best?” Iwaizumi leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s better than snitching,” said Semi vaguely. “It would be bad.”

“Semi,” said Iwaizumi, trying to control his intensity. “Just tell me who’s responsible. I can get you out of this if I know who to go after. Don’t sit back and let this happen.”

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Semi, come on.”

“I can’t.”

Iwaizumi was so frustrated that he felt like screaming. Instead he kept his voice level and said, “People have died, Semi. You’re going to be in prison for a long damn time.”

Semi smiled again, lazy and twisted. “I do okay in prison. People respect me there. It’s only outside that people treat me like shit.” 

Iwaizumi felt a little nauseous. This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t _justice_. 

He couldn’t let this happen.

He was up and around the table before Semi even blinked. He seized the front of Semi’s shirt and shook him. “Stop fucking around,” he growled. “Just tell me who it is.”

“I can’t.”

Iwaizumi shook him again, harder. “Don’t do this to yourself, you asshole. Let me help you.”

“No one can help me.” He was still smiling a little in that vague, creepy way. “I’m fucked and it’s fine. Let it go, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi’s fist clenched at his side, the muscles in his arm tensing. He thought maybe he was going to hit Semi.

He would never know, because before he had a chance to throw a punch someone seized him by the shoulders and shoved him against the wall.

Kuroo was in his face, bathed in the fury that Iwaizumi had only caught a flash of before.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” said Kuroo, so enraged that Iwaizumi half expected him to lash out. “I called you on standby to give you another chance and _this_ is what you do?”

Iwaizumi didn’t try to defend himself. “I’m sorry, Kuroo. But listen, Semi didn’t-”

“If you tell me he’s innocent one more time I’m going to put you in the fucking ground,” snapped Kuroo. “I don’t know if you’re delusional or just plain fucking stupid, but you need to shut your mouth before you get in even more trouble.”

Kuroo backed off a few steps, probably for his own sake as much as Iwaizumi’s. 

Semi watched the exchange blearily. He sniffed, hard. 

“Kuroo,” said Iwaizumi. He kept his voice low. “Just hear me out. Semi really isn’t responsible. He’s not the one you’re looking for.”

“I did it,” said Semi, before Kuroo could respond. They both looked at him. “I did all of it. I’ll sign a confession.”

Kuroo looked from Semi to Iwaizumi. “Get the fuck out.”

“Kuroo, please.”

“Get. Out.” 

Iwaizumi complied, because if he didn’t, he knew Kuroo would bodily remove him. He stepped out of the interrogation room. He wasn’t sure if Kuroo had meant for him to get out of the room or out of the building, but he didn’t intend to leave until Kuroo listened to him. He sank into the floor again and only belatedly became aware that Lev was standing over him.

He craned his neck back and found a cup of coffee in his face. He took it, and also the card that rested on the lid. 

“Captain looked mad,” Lev whispered. 

“Yeah.”

Lev crouched next to him, his back pressed against the wall. “Think he’s mad at me too?”

Iwaizumi shook his head. He doubted Kuroo had the capacity to express anger toward anyone else, as furious as he was at Iwaizumi. “Nah, I think you’re good. If he says anything just blame it on me. I’m in deep shit anyway.”

He felt Lev looking at him but he slipped his card into his pocket and sipped his drink without acknowledging him.

“Are you friends with him?” asked Lev.

At first Iwaizumi thought he meant Kuroo, but then he caught the sideways tilt of Lev’s head. “Semi? No, not really.”

“But you’re friends with Oikawa.”

Iwaizumi didn’t know what that had to do with anything. “Yeah.”

“Like, really good friends.”

“Yeah.”

“Like _more_ than friends.”

Iwaizumi’s stomach swooped, like he’d missed a step on a flight of stairs. “Yeah.”

Lev seemed oddly hesitant. Then he said, “Don’t tell captain that I told you, but you know he’s still watching Oikawa’s apartment, right?”

Iwaizumi didn’t know that but he wasn’t particularly surprised. “Why?”

Lev fiddled with the cup between his palms. “He thinks he’s doing something.”

“He’s not.”

Lev shrugged, noncommittal. “Just saying.”

They sat in the hallway while Kuroo questioned Semi. A couple of times Iwaizumi considered going into the adjacent room where he would be able to hear their conversation.

Every time it crossed his mind he decided against it. 

He had a feeling that whatever was being said inside that room was something he definitely did not want to hear.


	18. Chapter 18

Kuroo seemed to be in a better mood when he finished talking to Semi an hour later. It wasn’t much of a comfort because Iwaizumi was certain he was getting fired anyway, no matter how pleased Kuroo may be about the investigation.

Lev scrambled to his feet and stood at attention but Kuroo hardly even looked at him. 

“Iwaizumi.”

Limbs made heavy by reluctance, Iwaizumi followed Lev’s example and found his feet. “Yes, sir.”

Kuroo scoffed at the courtesy. “Give me your phone.”

Iwaizumi hesitated, but only for a moment. He slid his cell out of his pocket and placed it in Kuroo’s waiting palm. Kuroo tucked it into the front of his tactical vest. “Lev, keep an eye on the suspect. A _better_ eye. If you leave this hallway for any reason I swear to god you’ll be on light duty for three months.”

Lev sucked in a horrified breath and frantically nodded. “Yes, Captain Kuroo-san!”

Kuroo looked at Iwaizumi and jerked his head toward the door, an obvious order. Iwaizumi followed him outside without argument.

Kuroo didn’t speak until they stood on the sidewalk in front of the building. The night was mild but there was a slight chill to the air that made Iwaizumi shiver. 

“He confessed to everything,” said Kuroo. The heat was gone from his voice. The only thing left was conviction and a small measure of smugness. “He said he’s been shipping the moxie in from an old contact in Osaka. He wouldn’t give the guy’s name, though. Apparently he’s not a snitch, as he told me about fifteen times.”

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything. He couldn’t without rekindling Kuroo’s ire.

“He started selling at the bar because it was easy access to customers,” Kuroo continued. “Once he sold to a few people, more and more started piling in. He’s smart, I’ll give him that. If it hadn’t been for the overdoses he probably would’ve gotten by with it for a while longer. The only thing he wouldn’t tell me was where he’s keeping the stash of drugs.” He gave Iwaizumi a pointed look. “Any ideas, sergeant?”

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure where he was going with the question. “No.”

Kuroo seemed a touch irritated but his voice remained calm. “Well, I have a few. Kai and Fukunaga are meeting up with Kyoutani at Sapphire Grove to search the premises. I’m meeting up with Yaku and Yamamoto and Kenma to search Oikawa’s place, and you’re coming with me.”

Iwaizumi’s heart stalled in his chest. He felt cold, and it had nothing to do with the chill in the air. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Oikawa has nothing to do with this.”

“You said the same thing about Semi and look where that got us.”

The accusation stung, but Iwaizumi didn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t when Oikawa was about to be even more caught up in this fiasco. “You said yourself that Semi doesn’t even go to Oikawa’s place. It doesn’t make sense that he’d keep anything there.”

“Semi doesn’t go there,” Kuroo agreed, “but that doesn’t mean Oikawa isn’t carrying the moxie back and forth for him. They go way back. They probably had a good system back in Osaka.”

“Oikawa didn’t do _shit_ in Osaka,” Iwaizumi snapped. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Kuroo. “I didn’t realize you were there.”

Iwaizumi ground his teeth together and said nothing else.

“The only reason I’m taking you,” said Kuroo, “is because I know if we find something you won’t believe it unless you see it yourself. You’ll scrape together some stupid excuse that lets you think Oikawa is innocent. So we’re going to go and search and see what we find. For your sake I hope it’s nothing, but I’m not so sure.”

Iwaizumi’s fists were so tight that his blunt nails dug into his palms.

“I’m parked out back,” said Kuroo. He stepped away from Iwaizumi and rounded the corner of the building. “Let’s go.”

Iwaizumi exhaled, and it was almost a snarl. He reached for his phone, intending to give Oikawa a warning, but then remembered Kuroo had taken it.

Kuroo knew Iwaizumi too well and it was disconcerting.

The ride across the city was tense. Iwaizumi sat with his fists in his lap and stared resolutely out the window. Neither of them spoke. 

He wondered how difficult it was going to be to find another job. 

Then he wondered how this situation would have played out if he’d never met Oikawa Tooru. He would’ve probably been dressed in SWAT gear and been a participant in the raid like everyone else. He would have been thrilled that they finally managed to catch the suspect and eager to get to Oikawa’s to try and find the secret stash of drugs.

Everything would be normal. Everything would be easy.

“We’re here,” said Kuroo, the announcement unnecessary. He parked his unmarked cruiser behind another car, one that Iwaizumi recognized as Yaku’s undercover vehicle. “If you try to interfere I’m going to arrest you for tampering with evidence. I would appreciate if you don’t make me do it.”

“I’m not going to interfere,” said Iwaizumi through his teeth. “There’s nothing to interfere with. Oikawa hasn’t done anything.”

“We’ll see.” 

Kuroo got out of the car and Iwaizumi had no choice but to follow.

The other investigators had already arrived, and when Kuroo joined the group, they started toward the apartment complex as one. Yamamoto and Yaku still wore their tactical gear from the raid. Kenma was dressed in loose jeans and a hoodie. 

Iwaizumi didn’t speak to any of them and they returned the favor. He felt Kenma’s searching gaze on him but ignored it. 

They went up to Oikawa’s floor and every step felt heavier.

Kuroo knocked on the door and then stepped to the side, out of the doorway. The others did the same. It was the way they were trained, to avoid taking a gunshot straight through the door.

Iwaizumi didn’t move.

When Oikawa peered into the hallway his face was guarded. He took in each of the investigators individually, his gaze barely ghosting over Iwaizumi, before settling on Kuroo.

“Captain-chan,” said Oikawa snidely. “What a pleasure.”

Kuroo didn’t take the bait. “We’re here to search your apartment. Will you give us permission or do you need to see the warrant?”

Oikawa didn’t hesitate. “Warrant, please.”

Iwaizumi almost wished Oikawa had just let them in. It would have been less suspicious.

Kuroo retrieved a folded paper from his pocket and handed it over. “We have investigators arriving at your restaurant, too. Is there someone there to let them in?”

That finally got a reaction from Oikawa. He looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. “What?”

“I said,” repeated Kuroo, “is there someone at your restaurant to let the investigators in?”

It took a moment for Oikawa to form a response. He looked like he was struggling. “Yes,” he finally said. He looked down at the paper in his hands, though he clearly wasn’t reading it. “The closers are still there. I’ll call them.”

“No, you won’t,” said Kuroo. “You can’t make contact with them until the search is over. We have a warrant for the restaurant too so they won’t have a choice but to let us in.”

Oikawa looked up at him again, eyes flashing. Before he could snap a comeback, Kuroo said, “Please step aside. We’ll try to finish the search as quickly as possible.”

Oikawa set his jaw. He hesitated a beat too long, then stepped back and held the door open. 

Kuroo went inside first and the others trickled in after him. Iwaizumi was the last inside and he found it impossible to look directly at Oikawa.

“Let’s go counter-clockwise,” said Kuroo, gesturing toward the right-hand hallway that branched toward Oikawa’s bedroom. He turned back toward the door and said, “Oikawa, if you wouldn’t mind, just have a seat in the kitchen here. If you try and tamper with anything while we’re searching it’s a felony charge.”

Oikawa ignored that last part. “Thank you,” he said, “for offering me a seat in my own home. You’re so gracious.”

He stomped toward the kitchen and sank into one of the chairs, arms folded. 

“Iwaizumi,” said Kuroo, “you need to sit, too. Remember what I told you. Kenma, stay here and watch them. Yell if you need me.”

Kenma nodded and the three investigators stepped into the hallway. For a moment Iwaizumi didn’t move. Kenma’s eyes were on him, silently prodding him to follow Kuroo’s instructions, but he just stood by the door.

“Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s voice was low, gentler than expected. 

Iwaizumi crossed the room and settled into the chair beside him.

Oikawa immediately reached out and took his hand. Oikawa’s fingers were shaking. Iwaizumi realized that, beneath that angry façade, Oikawa was barely holding himself together.

Iwaizumi had been so busy worrying about himself and his career that he hadn’t really considered how this would affect Oikawa.

He scooted his chair closer, ignored Kenma’s stare, and wrapped an arm around Oikawa’s shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

Oikawa shook his head and hid his face in Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Iwa-chan. It’s just… it’s embarrassing. They’re going through all my stuff and touching everything and it’s going to be a mess.”

“I’ll help you clean it up,” said Iwaizumi, even though he knew that wasn’t the true problem. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. 

“Have they been to Semi’s yet?”

Iwaizumi stiffened, arm reflexively tightening around Oikawa’s shoulders.

He noticed. He raised his head to look at Iwaizumi. “Iwa-chan?”

That wasn’t the best time to talk about it, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He tried to think of a way to break the news gently and came up with nothing. “He’s been arrested,” he said. “He confessed to everything.”

Oikawa sat up straighter, eyes wide. “But Iwa-chan, Semi didn’t-”

“I know,” said Iwaizumi, cutting him off quickly. He was aware that Kenma was still in the room, listening. “I know he didn’t.”

Oikawa clenched the front of Iwaizumi’s shirt in his fist and buried his face again. Iwaizumi rested his cheek on top of Oikawa’s head and held him.

In one of the other rooms there was the distant sound of shuffling and shifting and rummaging. Iwaizumi heard drawers being opened and then a heavy ceramic sound that was probably the back of the toilet lid being lifted. 

Oikawa sniffled against Iwaizumi’s shoulder and curled closer.

After a while Yaku reentered the room and, after a look at Oikawa that was almost sympathetic, started searching through the kitchen cabinets. He did so with more care than most investigators would have used, mindfully replacing everything that he removed. 

Iwaizumi doubted Kuroo and Yamamoto were being so courteous.

He heard their voices mix together occasionally but the tones were always matter-of-fact. If they found something, Iwaizumi was pretty sure that everyone in the apartment would know immediately.

Time dragged. Yaku finished with the cabinets and moved on to the refrigerator. Then he checked inside the stove, and the microwave, and underneath the table.

Kenma stayed in the exact same spot, golden eyes never straying from Oikawa and Iwaizumi.

Kuroo should have left Kenma in charge of Semi instead of Lev. Kenma would have never left the suspect unattended.

When Kuroo finally returned to the room he looked irritated. “Yaku,” he barked. “Call Kai and see if they’re finished at the restaurant. We need Kyoutani up here.”

Yaku stood from his crouch, where he’d been elbow-deep in Oikawa’s freezer. “Ten-four, Captain.”

He drifted off to the side to make the call and Oikawa peeled himself away from Iwaizumi. “Who’s Kyoutani?” he whispered.

Iwaizumi’s stomach churned. “Canine officer,” he said. 

Oikawa made a choking sound.

“Don’t freak out, it’s fine,” said Iwaizumi. He gripped Oikawa’s hand. “They’ll just do a free sniff of the apartment. It’ll take ten minutes.”

“Iwa-chan, I’m so sorry,” Oikawa whispered. He lowered his head to stare at their linked hands. “This has to be so embarrassing for you.”

Iwaizumi’s heart stuttered with affection. “I’d never be embarrassed of you, Tooru,” he said quietly. 

He remembered a time, quite recently, when he was terrified that someone would see him with Oikawa; not because Oikawa was suspected of being involved in a series of drug crimes, but simply because he was a man. That had been Iwaizumi’s biggest problem for a while. 

In retrospect, it wasn’t much of a problem at all.

Iwaizumi loved his job – when he wasn’t dealing with cases like this – and for a long time he’d believed it would always be the most important thing in his life. That was why he’d kept his sexuality a closely guarded secret. He’d always thought that if he lost his job he’d lose everything.

Now he was beginning to realize that maybe there were things in life that were more important than his career. The highest priority of these was sitting next to him, sniffling. 

Several minutes after the investigators had given up their search, Kyoutani and Zeno arrived.

Kenma still stood near the door and he moved to let them in.

As soon as the dog crossed the threshold, Oikawa went rigid. Iwaizumi whispered another reassurance, still holding tightly to Oikawa’s hand.

Kyoutani scanned the room with quick efficiency, his eyes snagging on the sight of Iwaizumi and Oikawa. He frowned, gaze dipping to take in their linked fingers. 

“Kyoutani.”

He snapped to attention and followed Kuroo’s voice.

The search didn’t take long. Kyoutani led Zeno through every room of the house, looking for traces of the drugs that Kuroo couldn’t find. Oikawa was tense through the entire ordeal, and about halfway through, his phone started buzzing on the table in two-minute intervals. Someone was desperately trying to get in touch with him and Iwaizumi figured it was whichever employee had been unfortunate enough to be at the restaurant when the investigators had shown up.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispered. “This isn’t good. If the landlord finds out I had a dog in my apartment I’ll get evicted.”

Iwaizumi looked at him, prepared to make a comment about sorting out his priorities.

Oikawa was trying to smile, though the expression fell flat. 

Iwaizumi realized he was joking.

He huffed a short laugh and nudged Oikawa with his elbow. “If you get kicked out you can stay at my place.”

“Only if you let me make your breakfast every morning.”

“After the first day there wouldn’t be an apartment left, Shittykawa. You’d burn it to the ground.”

It was then that Kyoutani returned to lead Zeno through the kitchen, and Oikawa nearly crawled into Iwaizumi’s lap when the dog got close to him.

Zeno was unbothered. He simply sniffed at Oikawa and then circled around him to reach the rest of the kitchen.

There was a brief moment, when Kyoutani moved to the living room and Zeno hesitated in front of the couch, that Iwaizumi felt a flicker of concern.

The dog stopped at the exact spot in which Iwaizumi had been sitting when Semi had brought him the moxie. He’d been careful, but if there had been some on the outside of the bag that had trickled between the couch cushions, Zeno would find it. It wouldn’t be enough to pin Oikawa down as Semi’s accomplice, but it would be suspicious enough that he would never be ruled out as a suspect.

After that slight hesitation and some intense sniffing, Zeno bypassed the couch and finished walking the room.

“All clear,” said Kyoutani. He signaled to Zeno and the dog promptly sat, his tail sweeping from side to side.

Kuroo stared at him. Then he cut his eyes to the side, toward Oikawa. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s head out, guys.”

Everyone migrated toward the door. Kyoutani looked at Iwaizumi one more time before exiting, Zeno keeping a perfect pace beside him. 

When only Kuroo remained, he approached the kitchen table. He dipped a hand into one of the pockets of his tactical vest and offered Iwaizumi the phone he’d confiscated. 

Iwaizumi took it silently.

“Please pardon the intrusion, Oikawa,” said Kuroo. “I’m sorry if we’ve inconvenienced you.”

Objectively it would have been a genuine apology, but Iwaizumi knew Kuroo, and he felt the frustration lending heat to the words.

“Just get out,” said Oikawa flatly.

Kuroo nodded his consent. He was halfway to the door when he stopped. “Iwaizumi. You’re suspended for the next two weeks. I’ll make sure there’s adequate coverage for your shift.”

The blood drained from Iwaizumi’s face. “What?”

“That’s not fair!” Oikawa was on his feet, still anchored by Iwaizumi’s hand. “You can’t punish him because of me. None of this is his fault!”

Kuroo turned, and his expression was positively dangerous. “You’re suspended,” he said, speaking only to Iwaizumi, “because you manipulated one of my officers in order to speak with a suspect that I hadn’t gotten the chance to question yet. You’ll be lucky if this _only_ ends in suspension because I’ll have to include it in the report.”

Iwaizumi knew not to argue when Kuroo was like this. He tugged on Oikawa’s hand and said, “Yes, captain.”

“Do you want a ride back?”

“No,” said Iwaizumi. “I’m staying here.”

Kuroo wasn’t surprised. He left without further comment.

Oikawa’s anger lasted only until the door closed behind Kuroo. Then he slumped back into his chair and leaned into Iwaizumi. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m so sorry, Iwa-chan.”

“Shut up. You didn’t do anything.”

“It’s my fault you got caught up in this. If I hadn’t let Semi talk to you-”

“That’s enough.” Iwaizumi’s voice was hard, leaving no room for argument. “I tried to protect Semi because I think he’s innocent. It had nothing to do with you.”

Oikawa clearly wanted to protest, but didn’t push.

“Come on, then,” said Iwaizumi. “Let’s see what the damage is.”

Most of the apartment hadn’t suffered too badly. It was clear that someone had touched and moved and looked at everything, but it could be fixed with a few quick adjustments.

The bedroom was the worst of it, and it was clear that someone had searched with a little too much enthusiasm.

Drawers were still pulled open, the clothing within jumbled and wrinkled and spilling into the floor. Oikawa’s closet door was open, and during the search much of the clothing had been pulled away from the row of hangers and was now crumpled in the floor. On the bed, the mattress was slightly askew, the sheets were halfway off, and upon seeing the disarray, Oikawa immediately started sniffling again.

Iwaizumi wrapped his arms around Oikawa and pulled him close. “If you want to cry,” he said quietly, “I won’t judge you.”

That was the permission he needed. Oikawa’s sniffs gave way to sobs and they ended up on the messy bed with Oikawa crying into Iwaizumi’s chest.

“It’s not fair,” he managed, the words as wet as his eyes. “I didn’t do anything and they can still just come in here and- and-”

“I know,” murmured Iwaizumi. He pressed a kiss to the top of Oikawa’s head. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that. It’s not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“And Semi,” said Oikawa. “He’s going to go to prison again and it’s not fair, Iwa-chan. He’s a jerk, but he doesn’t deserve prison again.” He choked out one more sob and then sat up, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. “I need to call Ushiwaka.”

He inched toward the edge of the bed but Iwaizumi grabbed his arm. “Wait. Just stay here, I’ll get your phone.”

Oikawa collapsed back down and buried his face in the sheets.

Iwaizumi ran a hand through his hair and then made his way to the kitchen, where Oikawa’s phone still sat in the middle of the table. The screen proclaimed he had twelve new missed calls, all of them from someone called Tanaka. 

“He works for me,” Oikawa said when Iwaizumi pressed the phone into his hand. “He’s really high strung. He was probably freaking out. I should call him, too.”

Iwaizumi sat down on the bed and Oikawa immediately curled into him. “I’m sorry you got suspended, Iwa-chan,” he whispered.

“It’s fine. It should’ve been worse.”

“You don’t have to date me, you know,” said Oikawa, surprisingly serious. “It would be better for you if you didn’t. I don’t think they’re going to leave me alone.”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Iwaizumi. 

“I mean it, Iwa-chan.”

“So do I. Do you want me to break up with you?”

Oikawa shook his head and pulled himself against Iwaizumi more tightly.

“Okay then. Stop talking about it and make your phone calls.”

Oikawa did. He dragged Iwaizumi down and laid half on top of him as he called Tanaka first. That conversation was quick and easy, but the one with Ushijima was not.

“I don’t know,” said Oikawa. His voice was tight and he sounded like he was on the verge of tears again. “That’s just what happened... No, you idiot. Why would you even… Fine. Yeah, see you.”

Oikawa pressed his face into Iwaizumi’s chest and sniffed. 

“What is it?”

“Ushiwaka is stupid,” said Oikawa. “After I told him about Semi he asked if I had a spare bartender he could borrow from the restaurant.”

Iwaizumi scowled. “That’s it?”

“He’s probably concerned in his own stupid Ushiwaka way. I don’t know. He doesn’t make sense. I know he likes Semi or he wouldn’t have kept him around.”

“Does he know about Osaka?”

Oikawa nodded. “Semi told him everything when he started working at the club. Ushiwaka didn’t seem to mind. He just said something about planting new roots in fresh soil. He’s dumb.”

Iwaizumi wanted to tell him again that everything was going to be fine, but the more frequently he said it, the less true it sounded.

“Go run yourself a bath and relax,” said Iwaizumi. “I’ll get the bed put back together and pick up some of your stuff.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I’m going to do it anyway.”

Oikawa propped himself on his elbows and looked down at him. His eyes were red and swollen. “I’ve been trying to figure out why you like me, Iwa-chan. It doesn’t make sense. I’m just a hassle for you. Everything started going wrong when we met.”

“I only like your good looks. Everything else is shit.”

“Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi managed to smile a little. He leaned up and pressed a kiss against Oikawa’s mouth. “I like you. I like being with you. Nothing else matters, okay?”

Oikawa dropped his eyes and nodded. “Okay.”

Iwaizumi kissed him again. “Now go get in the bath. I’ll clean up.”

“I’m only going if you’ll come with me.”

“I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

Oikawa worried his bottom lip between his teeth, as if struggling to string some words together. Then he gave up and said, “Okay. I’ll be waiting.”

He crawled off of Iwaizumi and padded into the bathroom. A moment later the sound of running water filtered through the open door.

Iwaizumi pushed himself up and busied himself with straightening the bedsheets. Then he progressed to picking up the discarded items out of the floor and guessing where they were supposed to go.

He understood why the search had been necessary. He really did. If he was in Kuroo’s shoes he probably would’ve done the same. Still, that didn’t negate the dull burn of indignation that he felt on Oikawa’s behalf. 

Oikawa was whiny, eccentric, and a little annoying, but he was also clever, gentle, and absolutely beautiful. Oikawa was a good person. He didn’t deserve to be treated like this.

Iwaizumi didn’t know when this was going to end. He knew Kuroo wouldn’t give up until he found what he was looking for, and Iwaizumi knew it was going to be impossible for him to find it because he was looking in all the wrong places.

Iwaizumi wished he had some insight into who was really responsible. He would do whatever he could to make sure the true suspect was brought to justice, and a temporary suspension wasn’t going to stop him.


	19. Chapter 19

During his suspension, Iwaizumi was not supposed to be at the station, and he was definitely not supposed to have access to investigative reports.

“There should be updates to that case number,” Iwaizumi said. He leaned over Matsukawa’s shoulder and pointed at the computer screen. “Click there. See who’s made notes.”

“You’re going to get me fired,” said Mattsun.

“Just tell them I forced you into it and you were afraid to say no because I’m your superior.”

“That will get _you_ fired!”

“I’m suspended anyway. It’s not much of a change.”

Matsukawa grumbled but did as Iwaizumi instructed. Several investigators had added case notes to the electronic file of victim number three, the woman who had woken up in the hospital the week prior.

“Let’s see Kuroo’s,” said Iwaizumi. “I think he’s the one who talked to her first.”

Matsukawa obediently opened the notes. Iwaizumi leaned farther over his shoulder to read. 

For a moment they were quiet, both perusing Kuroo’s account of his conversation with the victim. Then Iwaizumi pointed to a paragraph midway down the report. “Right here,” he said. “‘When asked about the identity of the person who sold her the illegal substance, she stated it was the bartender. She was provided pictures of the suspect, Semi Eita, whom she positively identified.’ There’s no way, Mattsun.”

Matsukawa glanced up at him. “I think you’re reading too far into this. Maybe he did it, Iwaizumi.”

“He didn’t. Go to Yaku’s, I think he was with Kuroo at the hospital.”

Matsukawa sighed, but clicked into the next report.

Yaku’s account matched Kuroo’s, but with a few notable differences that that Iwaizumi was quick to latch onto.

“Read this, Mattsun. ‘The victim was disoriented and seemed to have difficulty organizing her thoughts.’ Well she just woke up from a coma, that probably wasn’t the best time to ask her important questions about the case.” Iwaizumi continued to skim over it the notes, then read with a little more enthusiasm, “‘When provided pictures of the suspect, the victim at first seemed uncertain. She later concluded that Semi Eita must have been the one who sold her the drugs.’ She wasn’t sure. Kuroo was probably hounding her for a positive identification so she just agreed.”

“I don’t think he would do that. He’s a good officer.”

“Yes, but he’s also desperate. Desperation makes people do crazy things.”

Matsukawa tilted his head back to look at him. “It’s funny that you should mention that, Iwaizumi. You seem pretty desperate yourself.”

Iwaizumi would have snapped back at him, but another voice drove a wedge into their bickering.

“Sergeant Iwaizumi?”

With a sense of impending dread, Iwaizumi turned to find Sergeant Sawamura in the doorway of the patrol room.

“Good morning, sergeant.”

“Aren’t you suspended, Iwaizumi?”

Matsukawa tried to subtly click out of the case notes. 

Iwaizumi floundered for a response, one that would leave him mostly unscathed while still preventing Matsukawa from facing the wrath of his sergeant.

He was saved the trouble when Sawamura spoke again. “I’m going down the hall to get some coffee. If you’re still here when I get back I’ll have to report your insubordination to the captain.”

“Yes, of course,” said Iwaizumi, struggling not to sag beneath the wash of relief. “Thank you, Sawamura.”

He shrugged off the gratitude. “Matsukawa, please don’t put me in a position where I have to reprimand you.”

“No, sir,” said Matsukawa quickly. “It won’t happen again, sergeant.”

Sawamura nodded, satisfied, and stepped back into the hallway.

Iwaizumi and Matsukawa looked at each other.

“That was easier than expected,” said Iwaizumi.

Matsukawa shook his head. “He’s less of a dick than you, except when he gets really angry. I suggest you get your ass out of here before he comes back.”

Iwaizumi chose to ignore that insult, thanked Mattsun for his reluctant assistance, and slipped out the back door of the station. 

He wished he’d had time to make copies of those case notes. The opportunity to reread them would have been helpful. Speaking to Yaku about the incident would have been the most enlightening path, but Iwaizumi knew he couldn’t do that without alerting the investigators that he’d still been reading case files during his suspension. 

He didn’t particularly want to put Yaku in that type of awkward position anyway. Yaku had been nothing but decent to him, despite the circumstances.

Semi was the person that Iwaizumi really wanted to speak with, and also the most difficult for him to get to. Now that Semi had been given a few days to sober up, Iwaizumi wanted another chance to convince him to give up the name of the person who was truly responsible. He couldn’t let Semi rot away in prison for something he didn’t do. Semi may be okay with it, but Iwaizumi wasn’t.

That conversation likely wouldn’t happen any time soon. Semi was sitting in a jail cell with a million yen bond hanging over his head. His next hearing date wasn’t until about a month later, which meant he was stuck there at least until then.

Maybe once Iwaizumi’s suspension was lifted he could go to the jail and talk to him.

But knowing Kuroo, Iwaizumi had probably been blacklisted from visitation.

The walk from the station to Sapphire Grove was long, but Iwaizumi didn’t mind. He wasn’t on a schedule, and he appreciated the extra time to think. 

It was too early for the restaurant to be open for business. Lunch was only served on weekends and it was currently two o’clock on a Wednesday. Still the front door was unlocked and Iwaizumi figured Oikawa had left it that way for him.

He’d whiled away many of his now jobless days at Sapphire Grove, spending time with Oikawa or helping him with the restaurant or just passing the time. After the first couple of days he thought his presence was too much, but when he’d mentioned leaving, Oikawa had viciously insisted that he stay and help reorganize the layout of the lower floor’s dining area. 

Oikawa was probably just taking pity on him because he didn’t know what to do with himself when he had no shifts to work. 

Even if it was pity, Iwaizumi appreciated it all the same. He wasn’t a man who was skilled at sitting idly by and watching the world pass. He had to be doing something or he would begin to decay. 

He searched through the dining room for Oikawa but came up empty-handed. He made his way back to the kitchen, where the faint sound of pots clanging together indicated the beginning of the evening’s meal prep.

Ennoshita was distributing pots onto an array of burners with quick, efficient motions that suggested he’d done it hundreds of times before. 

“Good afternoon,” said Iwaizumi, announcing his presence so he wouldn’t startle the chef.

“Good afternoon, Iwaizumi-san,” he said with a smile. He’d always been unwaveringly polite. Even Oikawa had never complained about him. 

“Where’s Oikawa?”

“You just missed him,” said Ennoshita, digging into a drawer for a handful of cooking utensils. “He got a phone call and rushed out. He said he was going to Shiratorizawa. Didn’t say why, though.”

That wasn’t normal. Oikawa always worked through the day at the restaurant. He wouldn’t have left mid-shift to run off to the Swan Club unless something had happened.

Suddenly Iwaizumi had a bad feeling. 

“I’ve got to go,” he said, probably too brusquely. “Thanks, Ennoshita.”

“Of course. See you later, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi hustled out of the restaurant and picked up a quick pace, headed toward the club. He ran through a mental list of reasons that Oikawa would abandon the restaurant in order to make an impromptu trip to Shiratorizawa.

None of the possibilities were good, but none of them were particularly plausible, either. Most were only Iwaizumi thinking up the worst-case scenario because that’s what he’d been trained to expect.

It was less than ten minutes later when he arrived. He expected to see a bouncer at the door, which was cracked open, but there was no one there to question him as he crept inside.

There were voices from farther in and Iwaizumi warily followed them. 

Three people were clustered around the bar, speaking in low tones. One of them was Oikawa. Tendou stood behind the counter, glasses clinking together as he rifled through the selection of alcohol. 

The third person was Semi.

Iwaizumi’s thoughts immediately raced to the possibility of some sort of jailbreak, but that was ridiculous. Even under his suspension, he would have heard about that. Mattsun would have sent him a cursory text if nothing else.

That meant someone had bailed him out and they’d paid a hell of a lot of money to do so.

Iwaizumi approached the group slowly, aware that he hadn’t exactly been invited. 

Tendou was the first to notice him. Iwaizumi didn’t know the bouncer that well, but even he could tell Tendou didn’t look so great. He was too pale and it appeared that he hadn’t slept in a while. The most disconcerting thing about him was his flat expression, devoid of any snide smiles or teasing brows. He simply looked at Iwaizumi and then back down, pouring a clear shot into a small glass. “Hey, Iwaizumi.”

Oikawa turned so quickly that he almost fell off of his stool. “Iwa-chan!”

He didn’t look offended by the uninvited guest so Iwaizumi moved closer to stand beside him. 

He took a good look at Semi and almost wished he hadn’t.

Semi looked awful.

He was so pale that he was almost transparent, his complexion chalky. The rings beneath his eyes suggested he may not have slept since the arrest a week before. His hair was lank, eyes dull. A dark bruise blossomed on the right side of his jaw, creeping down toward his chin. 

He noticed the way Iwaizumi studied him and looked away, just in time for Tendou to press the shot into his hand. 

“Drink up, Semi-Semi,” said Tendou, aiming for his usual playful lilt. It fell flat.

Regardless, Semi threw back the shot easily and nudged his glass forward for another.

“How did you get out?” said Iwaizumi. It wasn’t the most polite question, but it was the first one that sprang to mind.

Semi stared at Tendou’s hands as they poured another drink. “Tendou.”

Iwaizumi looked at him. Tendou was expressionless. 

“How did you afford that?” asked Oikawa, sparing Iwaizumi the trouble of posing another rude question. “I wanted to bail him out myself but the bond was ridiculous.”

Tendou frowned down at the glass in his hand, mouth pulling into a frown. When he spoke he was quiet, almost ashamed. “I asked Ushijima for the money.”

Oikawa gawked at him. 

Semi managed a pitiful scowl. “I told you it was stupid,” he said, taking the fresh shot. He swallowed, hard. “They’re just going to convict me and put me back in prison anyway. You wasted a lot of Ushijima’s money for nothing.”

Tendou plucked the glass from his fingers. “Not for nothing,” he said quietly. 

Semi’s scowl faltered and he looked away.

“Semi, you can’t do this,” said Iwaizumi, forgoing politeness. “You can get yourself out of it. I’ll help you.”

“I’m not going to do it, Iwaizumi. I already told you.”

“Yeah, but you were fucked up,” he said flatly. “I thought maybe when you were in your right mind you might have some common sense.”

Semi winced and blindly reached for another shot. “Well you were wrong. Nothing has changed.”

Tendou’s brows pinched together, as if he disapproved of Semi’s attitude, too.

“You’re being fucking stupid,” said Iwaizumi bluntly. “I don’t understand. Just tell me who’s doing this and you’ll be off the hook. It’s easy.”

Semi shook his head. “I don’t expect you to understand. You’re a cop.”

Iwaizumi’s snappy reply was interrupted.

“I’m not a cop,” said Oikawa, “and I think you’re being a real idiot, Semi-chan.”

Semi gave him a half-hearted glare. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Then don’t tell Iwa-chan,” said Oikawa. “That would make you a snitch. Tell me instead, then if I happen to let it slip it’s not your problem anymore.”

“I’m not saying shit to any of you. Just leave me alone.”

He was serious. There wasn’t even a sliver of uncertainty, a ghost of a chance that he would give in to protect himself.

“Then run,” said Iwaizumi, shocked that the words left his mouth. “Get the hell out of Tokyo before they start looking for you. Go back to Osaka.”

“I’m _not_ going back to Osaka,” snapped Semi. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t run from my problems.”

“Then don’t,” said Oikawa. “Let Iwa-chan help you. You don’t have to go back to prison, we can-”

“Shut up.” The words were absolute, unshakable. “Just shut the fuck up. I’m not going to change my mind. I wish you’d just left me in that fucking cell.”

Tendou bristled. “Yes, Semi-Semi. Because clearly jail was treating you so well.” He reached across the bar and jabbed a finger into the bruise on Semi’s jaw.

Semi flinched away, weakly slapping at his hand. “Quit it, Tendou.”

“No, _you_ quit it,” said Tendou. “I’ve never seen you be so _selfish_.”

“Selfish? What’s selfish about it?”

“You’re not thinking of how this affects anyone else,” said Tendou. He leaned so far across the bar that his face was only a breath away from Semi’s. His eyes were narrowed into slits. He pitched his voice high and mocked, “Oh, I’ll just lie to the police. Oh, I’ll just go to prison. No one will miss me. No one cares.” He dropped back to his normal tone and said, “Fuck you, Eita.”

Semi looked startled by the venom in his voice. “It’s not like that.”

“That’s exactly how it is,” said Tendou. He stood up straight and poured another shot. He took this one himself. He sucked the alcohol off of his teeth and said, “Why would this be any different? That’s how it always is. Always, always, _always_.”

Iwaizumi didn’t know what he was talking about, but the tension between the two stopped him from asking. Oikawa didn’t seem inclined to interrupt, either.

The break in the disagreement came with the presence of Ushijima.

He entered through the door that led to the back of the bar, taking them in with his perpetually stoic expression. 

“Semi,” he said without greeting. “I would like to speak with you in my office.”

Semi shot Tendou one last look before complying. He slid off his stool and circled around the bar, stepping through the door that Ushijima held open. 

Ushijima offered the rest of them a nod before following. 

Tendou slumped a little and again reached for the shot glass.

Iwaizumi sat on Semi’s vacant stool and gestured toward the bottle in Tendou’s hand.

“I thought you only liked beer,” said Oikawa. Normally it would have been a jab, but his voice was lifeless. 

“I don’t like shots,” said Iwaizumi. “I just need one.”

Tendou obliged him. “Hear, hear,” he said, raising his own glass to clink against Iwaizumi’s before they threw them back in unison.

“Oikawa?” offered Tendou.

“No,” said Oikawa. He rested his elbows on the bar and hunched over. “I want one of Shirabu’s drinks. Or maybe four.”

“Can’t help you there,” said Tendou. “I can’t mix anything. I can just pour.”

“Do you know anything about this, Tendou?” said Iwaizumi. He didn’t think the question would do any good, but he had to try. “Do you know who Semi’s taking the fall for?”

Tendou’s expression lifted immediately, mouth pulling into a stretched grin that revealed his teeth. Despite the smile, his eyes were dangerous slits. “If I did,” he said with false, razor-sharp cheer, “You would have no worries. I would take care of it myself.”

Iwaizumi believed him, and was both hopeful and frightened that Tendou would discover the identity of the criminal.

Tendou poured another pair of shots, tipped his own back, and then reached in his pocket for his phone. He answered it with a lilting, “How can I help you today, Kenji?”

Iwaizumi hadn’t even heard it ring. He looked sideways at Oikawa, who mouthed the word _Shirabu_ wistfully. He was probably thinking of that drink he’d like to have.

Tendou’s clearly false cheeriness was quickly punctured. “Yeah,” he said, face falling back into impassivity. “I went and got him… I don’t know. He’s talking to Wakatoshi right now.”

Oikawa brushed his hand against Iwaizumi’s elbow, gliding down his forearm and lacing their fingers together. Iwaizumi brought their linked hands up and dropped a kiss on Oikawa’s fingers. Oikawa blushed a little and looked away.

“Nah, he’s staying with me,” said Tendou. “He’s not really in a good way right now. I don’t think he should be alone... Yeah, he is… Yeah, I’ll tell him. Thanks, Kenji.”

Tendou hung up and stared at his shot glass, as if it contained the solutions to his problems.

Iwaizumi stared at it, too. He could benefit from some easy solutions.

“I don’t know what to do,” said Tendou. The confession was flat, yet somehow raw.

“Keep talking to him about it,” said Iwaizumi, because it was the only advice he could think of. “Try to change his mind. If he’ll give me anything to work with I’ll do whatever I can.”

Tendou sighed. “You don’t know Eita. He won’t change his mind.”

He swept both of the glasses off the counter and carried them to the far end of the bar. 

“How’d you know I was here?” asked Oikawa. He played with the fingers in his grip, the soft touches making Iwaizumi’s tense muscles unwind. 

“I went to the restaurant. Ennoshita told me you came here.”

“Sorry, Iwa-chan. I should’ve told you I was leaving. Tendou called and said Semi was out and I didn’t even think about it. I just came over.”

“It’s fine,” said Iwaizumi. “I understand.”

“He doesn’t look good,” said Oikawa quietly, as if imparting a grave secret. 

“Yeah, I know. He looks like shit.”

Oikawa sighed and sagged against Iwaizumi’s shoulder. It seemed to be one of his favorite places, but Iwaizumi didn’t mind.

“What’s going to happen, Iwa-chan?”

“I don’t know.”

“Semi’s going to prison,” said Tendou with faux brightness, leaning on the counter in front of them. “That’s what’s going to happen. He’ll get twenty-five to life, and probably end up doing life. He’ll get back in with his old prison buddies and fall into the routine and live happily ever after.”

“Don’t say that,” said Oikawa, wincing at the thought. 

“Why not? It’s the truth,” said Tendou, his singsong voice strangely melancholy. “I don’t know why you care anyway. I doubt you were this concerned when he went to prison the first time. It’s not as if this affects you.”

“I’m worried about him,” spat Oikawa. “That’s why I care.”

“Well I’m worried enough for everyone,” said Tendou, reaching across the bar to pat the side of Oikawa’s face. “So don’t bother.”

Semi reentered the room to the sight of Tendou trying to ruffle Oikawa’s hair and Oikawa slapping madly at his claw-like fingers. 

He was not amused by the display. In fact he was visibly upset, fists shaking at his sides and his scowl cutting a little too deep.

Iwaizumi didn’t think his mood had anything to do with the banter between Tendou and Oikawa.

“Let’s go home, Tendou,” said Semi, the words grating like sandpaper. 

Tendou abandoned his teasing immediately. He took in Semi’s obvious distress and relented without a single coy comment. “Okay, Semi-Semi. Want me to get a cab?”

“Let’s walk,” he said, stomping toward the door. “I need to breathe.”

Tendou followed without argument, sparing a parting wave for the two at the bar.

For a few minutes everything was quiet. Then Oikawa breathed a sigh and said, “I don’t want to work today, Iwa-chan.”

“Then don’t. I’m not going to.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “Not the same.”

“It’s your restaurant, though. You can work when you want, right?”

“Technically, but Ushiwaka won’t be thrilled if I start slacking off. I don’t want to slack off. I just don’t feel like it right now.”

His voice was whiny, but Iwaizumi was so used to it by now that it was almost endearing. He slid off of his stool and nudged Oikawa. “Come on, I’ll go with you.”

“Don’t feel like it,” Oikawa repeated. He swiveled on the stool and wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck. “Carry me, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi’s first instinct was to slap him away and tell him to carry himself on his two perfectly healthy legs. But instead he slid his hands beneath Oikawa’s thighs and hefted him off of the stool. Oikawa’s legs wrapped around his hips as he clung more tightly.

Iwaizumi carried him to the door. It was extremely awkward, not because Oikawa was too heavy, but because he was so _long_. There wasn’t a comfortable way to situate him, something that they’d discovered about a week ago when they’d been wearing much less clothing.

“We’re at the door,” said Iwaizumi. “Walk.”

“Just carry me all the way.”

“No. You’re too heavy.” Iwaizumi pretended to drop him. Oikawa squeaked and latched on more tightly. 

“I’m light like a feather, Iwa-chan!”

“I think you need to lay off the pasta.”

“Not true. I’m extremely fit. Any extra weight is all muscle.”

“I’ve literally never seen you go to the gym.”

“All muscle, Iwa-chan!”

After a few more verbal jabs Oikawa finally relinquished his death grip and slid to his feet. He didn’t seem inclined to move so Iwaizumi took him by the hand and led him outside, not releasing his grip when they hit the sidewalk.

The small display of public affection didn’t feel nearly as taboo as it would have when they first met. Maybe Iwaizumi had grown braver, but he didn’t think that was it. 

As he’d thought a week before, he’d finally realized that some things were more important than his job. The way Oikawa squeezed his fingers as they walked was one of them.

“We’ll figure something out for Semi,” said Iwaizumi, hoping it was the truth. “Don’t worry too much.”

Oikawa tried to smile, but it was clearly forced. “I hope so, Iwa-chan.” 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unnaturally long, but the entire first half is just smut, so I figured I should probably throw some plot in there at the end. 
> 
> This fic was running low on smut. I thought maybe it needed some more.

Iwaizumi woke to the smell of smoke.

He threw off the sheets and was instantly on his feet, his body moving before his brain could catch up. He surged into the kitchen to find Oikawa fanning the foggy air with Iwaizumi’s electric bill, trying to disperse the smoke curling from the flattop burner.

“What the hell?”

Oikawa whipped around to look at him, abashed. “Good morning, Iwa-chan. It’s fine. I’ve got this under control.”

Iwaizumi shouldered him out of the way and turned off the scalding heat. There weren’t any actual flames, which was good. The source of the smoke appeared to be a sizzling sludge on the burner. Iwaizumi couldn’t even guess what it was until he saw the broken eggshells on the counter.

He looked up at Oikawa, slowly. “You tried to make eggs again.”

Oikawa smiled a little, but it was cautious. “I was making breakfast in bed for my Iwa-chan. It didn’t quite work out.”

“You own a _restaurant_.”

“We don’t serve eggs.”

Iwaizumi tried to hold onto his stern expression, but it cracked with a grin. “You’re hopeless.”

Oikawa laughed, relieved. “Sorry, Iwa-chan.”

“It’s okay.” He waved away the smoke in the air, but it was already beginning to thin out. “There’s no permanent damage.”

Oikawa eased closer to him. “I can make it up to you.”

“Is that so?”

Oikawa hummed an affirmative. He leaned in and ghosted a kiss against the corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth. “But only after you brush your teeth. Your morning breath is awful.”

“You’re awful, Shittykawa.”

Oikawa gasped, feigning affront, and turned on his heel to storm back toward the bedroom. Iwaizumi watched him go with a fond smile that gradually flickered into a frown.

He liked waking up to Oikawa, even with the risk of his apartment being burned to the ground. He liked Oikawa’s laugh and his sass and his unrelenting optimism.

Having Oikawa there made him happy. It gave him the ability to forget, if only for a few moments at a time, that things outside of this content personal bubble were falling apart.

He felt a hot burst of guilt at that. He shouldn’t be allowed to forget, when the city was so heavily burdened with a problem that he hadn’t been able to solve. He shouldn’t be able to relax and be happy when Semi was going to prison and Kuroo was chasing the wrong leads.

He didn’t deserve Oikawa right now. 

Regardless, he went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth to prevent further whining on Oikawa’s part. When he stepped out, Oikawa was waiting, sitting cross-legged in the middle of Iwaizumi’s bed in only his boxers. He smiled and leaned back, his lean muscles flexing with the motion.

Iwaizumi’s eyes lingered despite himself, the mere presence of Oikawa enough to draw him in. He tried to shake it off and sat on the edge of the bed, keeping an arm’s-length of empty space between them.

“I’ll restart breakfast,” said Iwaizumi, “and make something that’s actually edible. What do you want?”

Oikawa inched closer and his grin curled with smugness. “I’m glad you asked. I’d like a healthy serving of Iwa-chan.”

Oikawa’s fingers smoothed along the planes of Iwaizumi’s back, scratching at his thin t-shirt. The sensation made Iwaizumi’s stomach tighten and he fought against his own arousal.

“I’ll just make eggs,” said Iwaizumi, “if you didn’t ruin them all.”

He started to stand but Oikawa’s grip tightened in his shirt and yanked him back down. 

“What’s wrong?” said Oikawa. The mattress shifted as he sat up and half-draped himself across Iwaizumi’s shoulders. “Are you okay, Iwa-chan?”

“I’m fine. Get off of me.”

Oikawa fell back, and as soon as his weight was gone, Iwaizumi stood. He made it halfway to the door before Oikawa said, quietly, “I’m sorry about the eggs.”

Iwaizumi’s insides felt tight again, but this time it wasn’t from suppressed arousal. He looked over his shoulder and the stab of guilt intensified.

Oikawa still sat in the middle of the mattress, his knees pulled up to his chest, mouth caught halfway between a frown and a pout. 

He looked dejected, like Iwaizumi had ground his feelings beneath the heel of his foot.

Seeing Oikawa unhappy was almost physically painful.

“Shit.” It was a low murmur, barely leaving Iwaizumi’s lips. He turned back and crawled onto the bed, looping an arm around Oikawa’s shoulders. “I’m not worried about the eggs, dumbass.”

Oikawa leaned into him. His hair tickled the corner of Iwaizumi’s jaw. It smelled like Iwaizumi’s shampoo. 

“You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course not. Don’t be stupid.”

“What’s wrong then?” Oikawa tossed a leg over Iwaizumi’s and sat up to look at him. 

“Nothing.”

“Iwa-chan is an awful liar.”

Iwaizumi scowled. “I just think maybe we shouldn’t do this right now,” he said. “Considering.”

“Considering…?”

“Everything,” said Iwaizumi, vaguely waving a hand. “With all that’s going on, it just… it feels kind of wrong.”

Oikawa’s stare was so focused that Iwaizumi had to look away. He was afraid it would burn a hole right through him.

“Iwa-chan,” said Oikawa slowly. “Are you saying that you don’t want to have sex with me because you’d rather spend your time worrying about everyone else?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Are you sure?” said Oikawa, pressing closer. “Because it sounded like you think you don’t deserve to be happy if everyone else isn’t.”

“That’s not-”

“The world isn’t your responsibility,” said Oikawa. One of his fingers smoothed along Iwaizumi’s jaw and coaxed his face back around. Those dark gemstone eyes were intent. “Everyone else’s problems aren’t on your shoulders, Hajime.”

His voice was low and earnest, more serious than Iwaizumi had expected. Oikawa dropped his hand and brushed his fingers along Iwaizumi’s arm, the contact fleeting. 

“You’re doing everything you can,” Oikawa continued. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth. It lingered, and the heat of his lips was almost intoxicating. “Dwelling on all of the bad things isn’t going to make them any better. It doesn’t matter what’s going on out there. You still deserve to be happy here with me.” His mouth moved, sliding along Iwaizumi’s jaw, lips brushing against his ear. “Let me take care of you, Hajime. You deserve to relax every now and then.”

Iwaizumi wasn’t convinced that was true. He thought he deserved nothing while this case was still spiraling out of control, while innocent men were at risk of irreversible consequences, while civilians could be overdosing to the point of death at that very moment.

Iwaizumi thought he deserved nothing, but the sensation of Oikawa’s lips moving against his neck made those negative thoughts just a little more distant. It was hard to focus on anything when Oikawa was that close.

Oikawa pushed against his chest and Iwaizumi leaned back on his elbows. Oikawa straddled him, knees pressed close against Iwaizumi’s hips, and hunched over to kiss him. His hands were hot on either side of Iwaizumi’s face, his tongue scalding as it flicked against Iwaizumi’s lips. 

Oikawa was a special kind of drug, one that Iwaizumi had been addicted to since his first taste.

Oikawa coaxed Iwaizumi onto his back and he went willingly. Oikawa sat astride him, his fingers toying at the hem of Iwaizumi’s shirt. “Can I?” said Oikawa, his eyes smoldering. 

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure exactly what he was asking permission for, but he did know that he was going to let Oikawa do absolutely anything he wanted. “Yeah.”

Oikawa leaned down and kissed his jaw. “I’ll take care of you, Iwa-chan,” he whispered. “I promise.”

A shiver rippled down Iwaizumi’s spine as Oikawa backed off of him. Then his fingers curled into the band of Iwaizumi’s sweatpants and tugged. “Lift up.”

Iwaizumi obliged, and Oikawa laid him bare with one swift pull.

Oikawa settled between his knees, his fingers ghosting across Iwaizumi’s kneecaps and up toward his hips. He dipped his head to nuzzle at the insides of Iwaizumi’s thighs, his breath tickling against the down of dark hair.

“Do you trust me?” said Oikawa. He looked up at him, his cheek pressed against the firm muscle of Iwaizumi’s thigh. 

Iwaizumi didn’t even have to think about the answer. It didn’t matter if Oikawa was asking about that particular moment, or in any other aspect of their lives. The answer remained the same. “Of course.”

Oikawa smiled. It was soft and sweet, but also a little predatory. “Roll over, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi felt the urge to argue on general principle, but he did as Oikawa said. He twisted around and laid flat on his stomach, his chin propped on his crossed forearms, his heart beating a little more quickly as Oikawa’s hands explored the backs of his thighs.

“You know,” murmured Oikawa, “you’re a real jerk, but luckily your muscles make up for that bad personality.”

“You’re the one with the bad personality, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi snapped over his shoulder. “Every time you open your mouth the only thing I hear is – oh, _fuck_.”

Iwaizumi bit down on his forearm to stop himself from moaning, the insult forgotten. 

Oikawa had spread his ass cheeks apart and dipped his head to drag a long, wet swipe of his tongue between them.

“What was that, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa said. He rubbed his face against Iwaizumi’s left cheek, his lips dragging against the skin.

“Shut up.” The words were muffled.

Oikawa’s thumbs slipped between Iwaizumi’s cheeks and pulled them apart again. “I can’t hear you. If you want me to stop you’ll have to speak up.”

Iwaizumi couldn’t see him, but the smile in Oikawa’s voice was evident. He wanted to do something to wipe that smug look off of his face, but he wanted Oikawa to continue even more.

Iwaizumi had never done this before. It hadn’t been something he was interested in because it seemed too intimate for the typical one-night stand.

But Oikawa didn’t fall into that category. He didn’t fall into any of Iwaizumi’s categories.

Oikawa shifted, settled in more comfortably, and pressed his tongue against Iwaizumi again.

He’d been expecting it this time, but that didn’t stop him from arching off the mattress and muffling another groan into his arm. He squirmed, hands fisting in the sheets, as Oikawa continued to lap at him, gradually prodding against his hole and slipping his tongue inside. 

While his tongue worked, he slid a hand beneath Iwaizumi and lightly gripped his dick. Oikawa gave it a couple of quick strokes and Iwaizumi bit down on a moan.

Oikawa’s grip tightened on Iwaizumi’s hip as he pushed his tongue in farther. Iwaizumi felt himself stretching around the intrusion, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as he’d expected. He should have been second-guessing this, or at least pausing to consider how unsanitary it was, but it was hard to think about absolutely anything else with Oikawa’s tongue lapping at him.

Oikawa released Iwaizumi’s dick and traced a finger around his rim, slowly slipping it in alongside his tongue. Iwaizumi groaned at the stretch, and Oikawa emerged long enough to say, “Grab the lube for me, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi would have preferred not to move, but the teasing lilt to Oikawa’s voice spurred him into motion. He stretched out for the nightstand, clawing clumsily at the drawer to pull it open. After a momentary struggle he found the lube, the task made more difficult by the continued movements of Oikawa’s finger curling inside him.

Iwaizumi passed the lube back and Oikawa withdrew his finger to take it. He pressed his mouth against Iwaizumi again and started licking in earnest as he popped the bottle and coated his fingers. 

A few minutes later Oikawa was three fingers deep, twisting at just the right angle to make Iwaizumi jolt and groan. He pulled back a little and Iwaizumi said, “Don’t you dare fucking stop.” 

Oikawa pressed back in with a little laugh, curled his fingers, and Iwaizumi gave a filthy sound of approval. 

“You want me to get you off like this, Iwa-chan?” purred Oikawa. He sat up and palmed himself through his underwear. He was just as hard as Iwaizumi. “I bet I could. It would only take just a little more _right here_ and-”

“ _Fuck_. Dammit, okay, stop.” Iwaizumi pushed himself up on his elbows and attempted to glare at Oikawa over his shoulder. The heat in his gaze was probably dampened by his suffocating arousal.

Oikawa hummed, twisted his fingers one more time, and then removed them with one last caress of Iwaizumi’s rim. He ran his fingers along the inside of Iwaizumi’s thigh, so lightly that he shivered beneath the touch. “You look good like this.”

“Shut up.”

“I mean it,” said Oikawa. He crawled up the length of Iwaizumi’s body and draped himself across his back, his lips pressing just behind Iwaizumi’s ear. “You’re irresistible, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi’s face burned. He dropped it into the pillow and hoped Oikawa hadn’t noticed.

“How do you want me to take you?” asked Oikawa. He threaded his fingers through Iwaizumi’s unruly hair and scratched lightly at his scalp. “From behind, so you can keep hiding your face?”

Iwaizumi wanted to kick him for pointing it out, but at the same time he was a little grateful for the option. “Yeah, let’s… let’s do it that way.”

“Okay,” said Oikawa. He kissed the back of Iwaizumi’s neck and pushed himself up. “But next time I fuck you I want to see your face.”

Even if Oikawa couldn’t see his face at that moment, he must have noticed the way his ears burned red. 

Oikawa rustled around behind him. Iwaizumi listened, on-edge, his nerves creeping in now that Oikawa was no longer touching him.

When something brushed his leg he nearly jolted off of the bed in surprise.

“Don’t be so jumpy, Iwa-chan,” said Oikawa. His voice sounded like he was grinning. He smoothed his hands along the backs of Iwaizumi’s legs and up to his lower back. Then he planted his hands on either side of Iwaizumi’s ribs and leaned over him. “Are you ready?”

Iwaizumi’s heart was beating too fast, he was beginning to sweat, and he was fairly certain that the heavy weight in his stomach was anxiety. 

Despite how relieved he would have been to stop, he wanted to feel Oikawa. Even if he didn’t deserve to have this right now, he desperately wanted it anyway.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Just go already.”

“So impatient,” murmured Oikawa. He trailed his fingers along Iwaizumi’s side, drawing out a silent shiver. Then he pressed against Iwaizumi’s entrance and slowly began to push inside.

Iwaizumi clenched the pillow tightly in both hands and buried his face in it so deeply that he was in danger of suffocation. The pressure only lasted a few seconds before Oikawa stopped.

“Iwa-chan?” he said. He pulled back a little, barely even touching Iwaizumi. “If you don’t want to do this it’s okay. Just say so.”

“I said go.”

“That’s not very convincing.”

“It’s fine.”

“If it’s fine then why are you so tense?”

“I’ve never done this before, Shittykawa. Of course I’m going to be tense.”

Oikawa was quiet for a moment before saying, “Roll over.”

“What?”

Oikawa’s fingers dug beneath his hip and pulled. “Roll over, Iwa-chan. On your back.”

“I said I’d rather-”

“I don’t care. Do it anyway.”

Iwaizumi gave in with a huff, flipping onto his back and giving Oikawa a half-hearted glare. 

Oikawa frowned down at him, then readjusted so he was again stretched out on top of Iwaizumi. He pressed his lips to the corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth and whispered, “Just relax, Iwa-chan. You can trust me.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you.”

“I know. Kiss me.”

“No way. Your mouth is filthy.”

Oikawa swiped his tongue across Iwaizumi’s lips and laughed when he flinched away. He rested a hand against the side of Iwaizumi’s face, cradling his jaw in his palm, and said quietly, “Kiss me, Hajime.”

The sound of his name in that smoky voice, paired with the hazy lust in Oikawa’s eyes, made Iwaizumi forget exactly why he’d protested at all. He raised his head to capture Oikawa’s mouth. His lips were hot and soft and eager, and as Oikawa’s tongue flicked against his teeth, he felt that insistent pressure again.

He stiffened, but Oikawa kissed him with even more fervor, and it was difficult to focus on the stretch while Oikawa was overloading his senses.

He fitted his hands around Oikawa’s hips and felt them shift beneath his palms as Oikawa pushed himself inside. When he finally stopped, Iwaizumi’s breath was so short that he gasped for air between Oikawa’s kisses.

Oikawa pushed himself up to give Iwaizumi room to breathe. He stared down at him, his hair a rumpled mess, and his dark eyes _smoldered_. 

“I’m the first one who gets to see you like this,” said Oikawa. His voice dipped lower, scraping into a deep pitch that Iwaizumi had never heard from him. “I’m the first one who gets to take you, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi closed his eyes and hoped Oikawa couldn’t tell how affected he was by the use of his given name. After hearing Oikawa repeatedly recite that playful distortion of his surname, the use of _Hajime_ was made even more potent.

Oikawa’s lips dragged at his jaw, then his neck, then returned to his mouth. 

“I’m going to move now,” he murmured. “Tell me if it hurts.”

Iwaizumi nodded and gripped at the sheets to brace himself.

There was no need. Oikawa was cautious.

He pulled his hips back so slowly that Iwaizumi felt every centimeter of the slide. It wasn’t painful. It was uncomfortable at most, and Iwaizumi figured that was only because he was so tense.

Oikawa seemed to sense that. He wrapped long fingers around Iwaizumi’s dick and stroked slowly as he pushed back in.

This time the feeling of fullness was more bearable, and Iwaizumi exhaled a breath and struggled to relax. It was easier with Oikawa’s hand moving over him, lightly squeezing on the upstroke, the glide made smoother by the leftover lube on his palm.

A few thrusts later, Oikawa released him and draped himself over Iwaizumi, his elbows pressed close on either side of Iwaizumi’s ribcage, dipping his head to slide their lips together. 

“Is this okay?” asked Oikawa. He turned his head to the side and rubbed his nose along Iwaizumi’s jaw. 

“Yeah,” said Iwaizumi. His voice was too raspy. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s fine. You can go faster.”

“You sure?” teased Oikawa. He flicked his tongue against Iwaizumi’s ear. “I don’t want to go too hard and hurt precious, delicate Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi tried to scowl but wasn’t sure how convincing it was. “I don’t care if you’re inside me. I’ll still hit you.”

Oikawa chuckled, the sound low and deep in his chest. “That would be assault. That’s unbecoming of a police officer.”

“I’m suspended,” said Iwaizumi.

Oikawa mouthed at his throat. “Hmm. Hitting is a little harsh. I would maybe let you spank me though, if you asked really nicely.”

Iwaizumi slapped the back of Oikawa’s head, gently. “Shut up.”

Oikawa grinned at him. Then he thrust forward with such force that it stole Iwaizumi’s breath. 

His head fell back and he squeezed his eyes. “ _Fuck_ , Oikawa.”

“When I’m fucking you,” said Oikawa, “I want you to call me Tooru.”

Something about the way Oikawa said it, with heat and passion and fire, made Iwaizumi _burn_.

“Then stop talking,” he growled, “and _fuck me_ , Tooru.”

Oikawa stared down at Iwaizumi, his breath stalled somewhere behind his slightly parted lips. Then he exhaled, dug his fingers into the sheets, and threw his hips forward. 

Iwaizumi clutched at Oikawa’s shoulders and bit down on a moan. His teeth clipped his tongue and he tasted a hint of blood. It was easy to ignore when Oikawa thrust into him again and again, setting a solid rhythm that stole Iwaizumi’s breath.

Iwaizumi was no stranger to sex. He’d lost count of how many meaningless hookups he’d had over the years. His first time with Oikawa hadn’t even been all that notable. It was the second time when he’d started seeing a difference, and the third and fourth times when he was certain that something had changed. Being with Oikawa was something new, because having actual feelings for someone was new.

This, however, was an entirely different experience. 

Iwaizumi enjoyed having control. It was an integral part of his job and a strong part of his personality. Giving that control to someone else in the most intimate way and leaving himself vulnerable wasn’t easy.

But despite everything that had happened and everything they’d been through, he did trust Oikawa. He trusted him with the drug case, he trusted him with his secrets, and he trusted him with himself.

Iwaizumi let his head fall back and let himself go. He closed his eyes and focused only on Oikawa, only the smell of his clean skin and the heat of his flesh and the satisfying burn deep inside him.

He would trust Oikawa with anything.

He would trust him with _everything_.

Iwaizumi was no stranger to sex, but this was a different sort of bliss. 

He came with Oikawa buried inside him and those long fingers around his dick, stroking him to the edge and throwing him over. A low, gruff cry of “Tooru” fell onto the air between them and then Oikawa joined him. He gasped against Iwaizumi’s neck, his lips wrapping around a breathy “Hajime” as he came. Iwaizumi felt the pulse of Oikawa’s orgasm.

Oikawa sprawled on the bed beside him, his hair stuck to his forehead by a light sheen of sweat. He glanced over at Iwaizumi through half-lidded eyes, his pupils still huge. He grinned slowly, his face relaxed.

He was the most beautiful thing Iwaizumi had ever seen.

Iwaizumi half-expected Oikawa to say something sappy and romantic, but he should have known better.

When Oikawa spoke, he said, “Do you forgive me for the eggs now?”

Iwaizumi smiled a little. “There was nothing to forgive, idiot. I wasn’t mad.”

“Oh well,” said Oikawa airily. “I guess the sex was all for nothing then.”

Iwaizumi jabbed him with an elbow and Oikawa just laughed.

They laid in silence long enough for Iwaizumi to grow drowsy. The sudden panic that had dragged him out of bed paired with the bone-deep pleasure had drained him.

“Hey, Iwa-chan?”

“Hmm.”

“You’re all sticky.”

“Don’t care.”

Oikawa huffed. His fingers danced across the firm planes of Iwaizumi’s chest and he said, “Please don’t worry so much. There’s nothing else you can do, and your worrying makes me worry.”

“You’re not allowed to worry,” grumbled Iwaizumi. As his thoughts flickered back to the case, to the rest of the world that existed outside of that room, the persistent, nagging dread began to chew at the back of his mind again. At least he’d forgotten for a while, and it had been bliss. “This isn’t your problem, Tooru.”

Oikawa smiled. Iwaizumi barely saw it through sleep-heavy eyes.

“It isn’t yours either, Iwa-chan.”

He stroked his fingers through Iwaizumi’s hair lightly, and it felt like a soft breeze. Iwaizumi’s eyes fell shut and he let himself drift off. 

  
  
  
  
Iwaizumi woke up two hours later, and Oikawa was gone.

He was disappointed until he checked the time and realized Oikawa must have left for work. When he checked his phone he found a text from an hour before. 

_I have to work late but I’ll buy you dinner tonight. See you later, Iwa-chan! ;)_

Iwaizumi realized he was smiling and tried to stop.

He crawled out of bed and groaned at the mess. The sheets were disgusting. He would have to carry them down to the first floor and put them in to wash. First he got in the shower to take care of his own mess, and mumbled curses as he scrubbed at the come dried in the coarse hair on his stomach. He should have listened to Oikawa and cleaned himself off instead of falling asleep. 

He got out of the shower, balled up his sheets, carried them down to the laundry room, and then returned to stand awkwardly in the middle of his apartment.

He looked around, hoping his eyes would catch on something that needed to be done. The apartment was cleaner than it had been since he’d moved in. With all of his extra free time, finding a few minutes here and there to tidy up wasn’t a problem.

He went into the kitchen to clean up Oikawa’s egg fiasco, but found that Oikawa had done it himself before he’d left.

Iwaizumi could go to Sapphire Grove. He knew Oikawa wouldn’t mind, but he also felt that he was overstaying his welcome. He didn’t need to be around Oikawa all day every day. A little time apart was probably good for them.

He thought about calling Makki or Mattsun, since neither of them were working that day.

But neither of them were working that day, which almost guaranteed that they would be doing something together that Iwaizumi preferred not to think about.

He ended up stretched out on the couch with the TV on, trying to focus on the screen and failing miserably.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the investigation, and wondering if there had been any new developments since he’d convinced Matsukawa to log into the reports the day before. 

Tomorrow Hanamaki would be on duty, and maybe Iwaizumi could coax him into checking. He would have him report his findings by phone, however, instead of going to the station in person. That was what he should have done the day before. It was fortunate that Sawamura hadn’t ratted him out to Kuroo.

The day dragged by. Iwaizumi wasn’t made for long stretches of inactivity, and he found himself growing restless. At about four o’clock he decided to go burn off some energy at the gym. By the time he worked out, returned home, and showered, it was still only five-thirty and he slumped onto the couch again.

His phone rang at seven-thirty, and he pulled himself out of his conscious coma to answer it. He assumed it was Oikawa, asking if he was ready to go to dinner.

Instead it was an unknown number.

Iwaizumi didn’t hesitate. He’d learned his lesson about screening his calls.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Semi.”

Iwaizumi sat up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing more than usual,” said Semi. “Are you busy?”

Iwaizumi glanced around at the living room he’d been staring at for the entire day. He’d never been less busy in his life. “No, why?”

“I… need a favor.”

Iwaizumi was immediately on edge. “What kind of favor?”

Semi must have heard it in his voice. “I’m not going to ask you to do anything illegal, Iwaizumi. Jesus, calm down.” He voice was snappy, like he was aiming for irritation, but beneath that he just sounded tired.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” lied Iwaizumi. “What’s up?”

There was a pause long enough that he thought maybe Semi had ended the call.

“I need to get some stuff out of my apartment,” Semi finally said, more subdued. “I haven’t been there since Tendou bailed me out. I need… I wanted to know if you’ll go with me. I just need to grab a couple things. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

It was a strange request, and Iwaizumi couldn’t figure out his motive. “Why don’t you just take Tendou with you?”

“He’s at work. I was waiting for him to leave.”

“Why?”

Semi sighed into the phone, as if explaining this to Iwaizumi was exhausting. “Because I don’t want him to go. He’ll get all weird about it.”

Iwaizumi wanted to keep prying, but decided to drop the questions about Tendou. Instead he asked, “Why me?”

“I don’t really have anyone else to ask,” he said quietly. “If you don’t want to it’s fine. I just can’t make myself go alone.”

Iwaizumi thought of a dozen reasons to say no, but when he spoke again, he said, “I guess I can go. I’m not really doing anything.”

There was a beat of silence, and then, “Thanks, Iwaizumi. I’ll text you the address. It’s right around the corner from Shiratorizawa. Can you meet me there in half an hour?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’ll wait for you out front.” Another pause. “And thanks.”

“Sure. See you soon.”  
  
  
  
  
The entire way there, Iwaizumi tried to figure out what Semi’s deal was.

They weren’t friends. The only reason they were even acquaintances was because of Oikawa, and the ex-boyfriend status should have made Semi a less favorable social contact. 

Iwaizumi had tried to help Semi, and he would like to keep him from going to prison. He supposed he liked Semi to an extent, but Semi didn’t seem to return the sentiment. He couldn’t figure out why Semi had called him, of all people. Even Oikawa would have made more sense.

Those fruitless musings were his companions until he arrived at the texted address and found Semi sitting on a bench in front of the block of buildings, hunched over with his head in his hands.

Iwaizumi approached slowly, his hands in his pockets. Semi didn’t look up until he said, “Hey, you alright?”

When Semi emerged from his hands he looked tired, but his familiar scowl was in place. “Yeah, I’m fine. You’re late.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes as Semi stood and dusted off the front of his jeans. 

“Thanks for coming, though,” Semi added, almost grudgingly. “I don’t even want to be here but I can’t wear Tendou’s clothes. And I want to get my stash of money before the landlord cleans out my stuff. It’s not enough to pay back Ushijima, but it’s a start.”

Iwaizumi thought back to the day before, about how furious Semi had been after his meeting with Ushijima. He wondered if the conversation had been about money, but that didn’t really seem like something Ushijima would worry about.

“Let’s get this over with,” said Semi, starting toward the door and trusting Iwaizumi to follow.

His apartment was on the sixth floor. Semi insisted on taking the stairs, mumbling something about the unreliability of the elevator. Iwaizumi gave in without complaint, although his legs were still a little weak from his hour at the gym.

When they reached the correct door Semi hesitated, pinching the key between his fingers. 

“The police trashed the place,” he said, voice low. “I don’t remember a lot from that night, but I know that much. It’s a fucking disaster in there and I don’t want to see it.”

Iwaizumi didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept quiet.

Semi took a deep breath, released it in a huff, and unlocked the door.

He hadn’t exaggerated. It looked like a tornado had torn through the inside of the apartment. 

The coffee table was overturned and couch cushions were tossed against the wall. Through the main room Iwaizumi could see into the kitchen, where drawers gaped open and miscellaneous utensils littered the floor. 

Semi clenched his fists so tightly that they trembled. He set his jaw and stomped toward a closed door. “I’ll grab my shit. Just wait for me.”

Iwaizumi lingered awkwardly in the destroyed living room. He wandered to the corner to examine a potted plant that had been overturned, dirt spilling across the patterned carpet. 

The SWAT team had done this. _Kuroo_ had done this.

Iwaizumi turned away, and his shoe sent something rolling. It took him a moment to recognize that it was a cut straw, and one more to realize what it had been used for. He averted his eyes and tried not to think about it.

“Iwaizumi.” 

Semi’s voice filtered out of the adjacent room. It was frayed around the edges, almost choked, as if it barely made it out of Semi’s throat.

Iwaizumi was through the door in an instant, automatically reaching toward his hip for the gun that he’d left at home.

If he’d thought the rest of the apartment was a mess, the bedroom was a warzone. The mattress had been overturned, and the contents of the night table were spewed across the floor. The closet doors hung open and the clothes within had been ripped off of their hangers to pool sadly in the floor. Pictures had been pulled off the walls and tossed carelessly in the corner. 

Against the wall stood a dresser, all of the drawers yanked open. Semi stood in front of it, pale and rigid.

Iwaizumi waded through the mess and stepped up beside him. 

Inside one of the dresser drawers were about three dozen plastic bags, all of them containing a hefty handful of a familiar powder. They were arranged in neat rows, as if someone had taken great care when placing them there. It was a stark contrast to the rest of the house, and it was clear that this hadn’t been present when the police had conducted their search. 

Semi seized Iwaizumi’s arm, his grip like a vice. “I can’t do this,” he said, his voice much weaker than the fingers digging into Iwaizumi’s flesh. “I can’t do this again.”

“Where did this come from?”

Semi shook his head. “He’s trying to frame me. He knows I’m out of jail. He’ll probably call the police and tip them off so they’ll come back and find it and I’ll get put away again. They’ll think I came back to hide my drugs here since they’ve already searched.”

He was almost rambling, and Iwaizumi reached out to shove the drawer shut. He turned to Semi and gripped his shoulders, forcing him to look up. “Who left this here, Semi?”

Semi shook his head again. He looked like he was in pain. “I can’t. Stop asking me, I _can’t_.”

“Why not? There’s no way this is just about not being a snitch. Fuck that. What’s the real problem, Semi? What’s he doing to keep you from talking?”

Semi shoved him away. He bit his lip and glanced back at the drawer, as if he could hear the moxie whispering from within. “We’ll just leave it. I’ll pretend I never came back. I’ll get my stuff and we’ll just leave it.” 

“And how long until you come right back to get it?” 

Semi bit his lip harder. Iwaizumi was worried it would bleed.

“Then what are we supposed to do?” said Semi. He laughed once, almost hysterically. “Call the police ourselves?”

“Actually,” said Iwaizumi, “yes. That’s what we’re going to do.”

Semi’s turned toward him, baffled. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“No, hear me out,” said Iwaizumi. “They searched the entire place. They know this wasn’t here when they arrested you. We’ll tell them we came back for your stuff and found it. They’ll have to admit someone else is involved. They’ll see someone is framing you.”

“No, it’s going to look like I sneaked back to my apartment and hid more drugs,” said Semi. “Then I’ll go to jail on more charges.”

“I thought you didn’t mind going to jail.”

Semi scowled at him. “Well now that I’m out I’d like to enjoy my last three weeks of freedom.”

Iwaizumi turned away and paced across the room, fighting to contain his frustration. “Okay,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Here’s what we’ll do. Grab what you need and get out. I’ll call Kuroo and tell him I came to get some of your stuff because you refuse to come back to the apartment. I’ll tell him I found it, and then you can’t get blamed for it because they’ll think you haven’t been here since the arrest. Tendou can back up your story since you’re staying with him.”

“That’s not going to work.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s the police!” snapped Semi. “The police want me to be guilty, so it’s not going to work!”

“I’m the police!” Iwaizumi nearly yelled. “Can you just trust me with this?”

They scowled at one another from different sides of the room. Semi only looked away to glance at the drawer. 

Iwaizumi was suddenly glad Semi had called him, despite the inconvenience. If he wasn’t there, he was pretty sure Semi would have already been halfway to fucked up.

Because why bother abstaining when he was going to be in prison soon anyway?

“Look,” said Iwaizumi, more calmly. “I’ll handle it. Just get what you need and go.”

Semi’s jaw twitched. It looked like he was gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “They’re going to know I was here.”

“No, they won’t. I’ll tell them I came alone.”

“I still don’t think it’s going to work.”

“Then tell me a better idea.”

Semi’s jaw twitched again. Finally he broke Iwaizumi’s gaze, glanced at the dresser, and then headed toward his detonation site of a closet. “Fine. It’s not like three extra weeks of jail will kill me anyway.”

Iwaizumi stood by as Semi filtered through the mess, plucking out the items he wanted to salvage and stuffing them into a duffle bag that he retrieved from the bottom of the pile. 

When he finished he reentered the bedroom and selected one of the picture frames that had been taken off of the wall. He popped the back off and scraped up the scatter of yen pressed behind the picture. He repeated the process with the other frames, until he had a fairly hefty stack of yen that he tucked into the duffel bag. He slung the strap over his shoulder and tossed one more look at the dresser. 

“That’s all I really need,” he said. 

“Will you be okay to get back to Tendou’s by yourself?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’ll take me about ten minutes.”

“Alright. I’ll call Kuroo in fifteen.”

Semi nodded and hefted the bag into a more comfortable position. He looked at the floor as he said, “Thanks, Iwaizumi.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just go. I’ll take care of it.”

Semi chanced one more lingering glance at the dresser drawer. Then he was gone, the apartment door closing quietly behind him.

Iwaizumi stepped out of the room and sat on the arm of the couch. As if he hadn’t been convinced already, this development was enough to assure him that Semi wasn’t responsible for the drug distribution. Someone was using him as a scapegoat, and Iwaizumi wasn’t going to stand for it.

He leaned back against the couch, studied the disarray of the apartment, and waited out the longest fifteen minutes of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The truth will be revealed soon. Very soon. Maybe even in the next chapter.
> 
> I can't believe you guys are still sticking with this fic but I really appreciate it. Thank you. ^^


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of the end. Only five chapters left.
> 
> Also, I finally gave into the inevitable and made a tumblr - [ worthlesspride](https://worthlesspride.tumblr.com/). Come talk to me! And let me know who you are over there so I can follow you.

Iwaizumi had expected it would take a little effort to convince Kuroo that he’d been wrong.

He hadn’t expected to get shut down completely, almost before he’d been given a chance to explain.

“You can’t tell me you actually believe this,” said Kuroo, his disappointment evident. “It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Obviously he came back to the apartment when he got out and stashed his drugs away for safekeeping. He’s lying to you, Iwaizumi.”

“No, he isn’t,” said Iwaizumi through his teeth. “He hasn’t even been back here since he bonded out. Someone else did this.”

They were arguing in the middle of Semi’s living room while Yaku and Lev collected the drawer full of moxie. Lev was unusually subdued, perhaps sensing the dangerous atmosphere between his two superiors.

“How do you know where he’s been?” said Kuroo. “Have you been with him since the minute he stepped out of the jail?”

“No, but-”

“But nothing! He’s a felon and an addict and a liar. I don’t know what you don’t understand about that.”

“Tendou has been with him,” said Iwaizumi. “He knows he hasn’t been here. He can vouch for him.”

“The word of Tendou Satori means nothing to me,” said Kuroo. “They’re friends, Iwaizumi. Of course he’ll lie for Semi.”

“Kuroo, come on. This is evidence!”

“You’re right,” said Kuroo. “It’s evidence that we still need to keep an eye on him. Actually, if I take this to the judge, it might be enough to revoke his bond.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Iwaizumi. He tried to lie convincingly as he added, “When I called Semi about this, he asked me to call you. If this was his then he would’ve told me not to let the police get involved.”

Kuroo was in his face in an instant. “You are the police!” he said, too loudly. “Did you forget already?”

“It’s hard to remember when you won’t let me work with my fucking shift!”

He immediately knew he’d crossed a line. It was clear by the way that the air in the room suddenly felt heavier, as if it would suffocate him. 

Kuroo’s eyes narrowed, mouth flattening into a thin line. “This,” he said, voice deceptively calm, “is exactly why I suspended you. How about you take another two weeks off and see if that improves your attitude.”

“No. You can’t-”

Kuroo seized him by the front of his shirt and shook him. “I can do whatever the fuck I want,” he snapped into Iwaizumi’s face. “In fact, I’m fully capable of firing you, and every time you open your mouth I get a little closer to doing just that.”

“Captain, please stop.”

Kuroo looked over his shoulder at Yaku, who’d stepped into the living room. He swiveled his head back toward Iwaizumi and seemed to realize what he was doing. He pried his hands away and took a step back.

“Like I said.” Kuroo ran a hand through his hair. “Two more weeks of suspension. If you pull something like this again it’s going to be permanent.”

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to argue, but forced himself to shut it again. Anything he said now would be so angry and bitter and profane that he would be fired on the spot.

“I don’t want to do this,” said Kuroo. “You know me, Iwaizumi. I’ve always liked you. I just don’t understand why you’re doing this to yourself. Semi is a criminal and I plan to take care of him. Don’t let yourself get dragged down with him. I don’t know what Oikawa has been telling you, but-”

“You leave Oikawa the fuck out of this.”

Kuroo raised his hands, as if trying to pacify him. “I’m not saying anything bad about Oikawa, alright? It’s fine, Iwaizumi. Calm down.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” snapped Iwaizumi. “I know you think he’s done something wrong, even if you can’t prove it. I’m not stupid, Kuroo.”

“The way you’ve been acting suggests otherwise.”

“Captain,” said Yaku sharply. “We got the drugs. Let’s go.”

Iwaizumi was so furious that he was shaking. 

Lev peeked into the room, clearly cowed by the disagreement. He hovered behind Yaku, as if the smaller man would act as a shield from the bad energy.

“Right,” said Kuroo. “Let’s go. We’ll be following up on this, Iwaizumi. Thanks for calling it in.”

Iwaizumi ground his teeth together and said nothing, because he couldn’t trust himself to speak.

Kuroo strode out of the room and Lev followed closely on his heels. Yaku hefted the evidence bag over his shoulder and tossed a look at Iwaizumi. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but he settled with a nod before exiting the room.

Iwaizumi counted to ten, hoping it would ease his temper.

It didn’t.

Slamming his fist through the wall, however, made him feel a little better.

  
  
  
  
Even hours later, Iwaizumi’s anger still hadn’t completely faded. The handful of beers he’d drank over the course of the night had taken off the sharpest edge, though.

It was nearly four a.m. at Shiratorizawa. The music had been cranked down to half its normal volume and only a handful of dedicated clubgoers remained. Most of the staff had fallen into their nightly cleaning routines. Iwaizumi sat at one of the corner tables, staring into the bottom of his final beer of the night while Oikawa dozed against his shoulder. Semi sat across the table from them, watching with a scowl as Shirabu wiped down the bar.

Iwaizumi had discovered sometime around midnight that Ushijima had forbidden Semi from working at the club because of his “situation”, and Semi was clearly not pleased. In fact, the frequent glances he slid toward his fellow bartender were downright murderous. Iwaizumi almost wanted to tell him not to take out his frustrations on Shirabu, but it wasn’t really his place, and he wasn’t drunk enough to overstep his boundaries.

“Who’s that?” asked Iwaizumi absently, indicating a young man carrying a bucket of cleaning supplies toward the bathrooms. He looked vaguely familiar. Iwaizumi thought he’d perhaps seen him once before, but couldn’t recall the occasion.

Semi looked up. “Goshiki. Ushijima pays him to help clean and shit. He’s not old enough to serve alcohol yet.”

Iwaizumi rolled the name through his head. It hadn’t been printed on any of the paperwork that Ushijima had provided the police department. After the third victim, Ushijima had given Kuroo information on all of his employees so they could be interviewed. No one called Goshiki had been on the list.

“Stop looking at him like that,” said Semi, recognizing the suspicion on Iwaizumi’s face. “He’s just a kid. If someone poured him a handful of cocaine he wouldn’t even know what it was.”

Oikawa mumbled something into Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Iwaizumi raised a hand and threaded it through Oikawa’s hair once before again gripping the empty glass.

Semi’s eyes followed the motion, lingering.

“You’re paying my security deposit,” he said, frowning at Iwaizumi’s busted knuckles. 

“It’s not like I left a hole in the wall,” said Iwaizumi. He flexed his fingers with an expertly suppressed wince. Once he’d rinsed the blood off, his hand hadn’t looked too bad. The skin was flayed from his knuckles and it was beginning to bruise, but other than that, it was perfectly fine. “Just a moderate sized dent.”

“Who cares about the deposit?” asked Oikawa, his voice a little more coherent. “You’ll be in prison. Just burn the place down. What are they going to do about it?”

Semi glared at him, but since Oikawa’s eyes were still closed, it had no effect.

“I already apologized,” said Iwaizumi. He scooted the glass to the edge of the table and put an arm around Oikawa’s shoulders instead. “I lost my temper for a minute. I’ll pay to have it fixed.”

“I told you not to call the police,” Semi said, an eyebrow arched in condescension. “I told you this would happen. Now they’re going to be even farther up my ass.”

Iwaizumi sighed. They’d already had this exact conversation hours before. That was why he and Oikawa were still there at four o’clock in the morning. They’d decided it was best for Semi not to be alone, during which time another incident could happen that he would automatically be blamed for. While Tendou was working, he had to be monitored by someone else.

By default, Iwaizumi had been elected as that _someone else_. 

Oikawa was just unfortunate enough to get caught up along with him.

“Tendou isn’t working tomorrow, right?” said Iwaizumi.

Semi scowled, but the expression fell flat. “No, don’t worry. You won’t have to babysit me two nights in a row.”

Oikawa muttered something that sounded like “crybaby”, but they both ignored him.

“It’s not babysitting,” said Iwaizumi. “It’s protecting your rights and providing you with a feasible alibi. I’m not going to let you get blamed for something you haven’t done.”

“I’m already going to prison.”

“No, you’re not.”

Semi’s stare was flat. “Yes, I am. I already confessed. When I go back to court I’m going to tell them I don’t need a lawyer and ask them to sentence me. I just want it over with.”

“Then I have twenty-three days to figure it out,” said Iwaizumi, mentally calculating the span of time until Semi was due back in court. “I guess I’ll be investigating on my own since I’m suspended until then.”

Semi slapped his hand on the table with a surprising measure of vehemence. Oikawa started upright, blinking in muddled confusion.

“Stop it,” Semi hissed, teeth bared. The low light caught the scar that cut through his eyebrow and Iwaizumi wondered if this was what he’d looked like during his days in Osaka. “I don’t want your help, Iwaizumi. I’ll put up with you when Tendou is working so I can have a few more weeks, but that’s all I want. If you keep pushing, you’ll lose your job. I’ll be in prison either way, but if you’ll just fucking stop then at least you’ll still have a life after this.”

Oikawa looked between them, oddly quiet.

“I don’t understand,” said Iwaizumi, the words forced between gritted teeth, “why you still refuse to give this bastard up when you’re losing _everything_. Who the fuck cares if you’re a snitch? If this is about pride then you need to get the hell over it.”

Semi’s jaw twitched. “You don’t know anything about me. There are worse things to lose than freedom.”

Iwaizumi’s hands curled into fists. His knuckles burned.

“Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s fingers were light on his wrist. “It’s okay.”

Iwaizumi glanced at him. Oikawa’s brows were pulled together, lips downturned in a frown. His eyelids were still drooping a little from the remnants of his doze. 

Iwaizumi struggled to relax his fists and was rewarded by Oikawa’s fingers sliding between his. 

Oikawa pillowed his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder again and mumbled, “Don’t be a bully, Iwa-chan.”

It was meant to be playful, but Iwaizumi knew that Oikawa was nearly as frustrated with Semi as he was.

“I thought I was finished.” The voice made all of them look up. Shirabu stood a pace away from their table, flatly staring at Iwaizumi’s empty glass. “Great.”

“It’s one glass,” said Semi, his voice snapping through his teeth. “It won’t kill you.”

Shirabu gave him an impassive look before reaching for the glass. His sleeves were long, hanging nearly down to his knuckles. The jacket he wore was a garish purple, the vividness of the shade almost offensive. 

Iwaizumi thought it looked oddly familiar, though he couldn’t determine why.

“Sure you would say that, Semi-san,” said Shirabu. “Some of us worked a full shift tonight and would like to get home. It doesn’t appear that you’ve strained yourself.”

Semi’s jaw tightened. 

Iwaizumi was struck by a flash of recollection, sparked by the combination of Semi’s gritted teeth and the bright jacket. Both of those things had come together once before, when Kuroo had arrived at the club to search the premises. 

The jacket had been in Semi’s locker, discarded at the bottom. He’d been tense when Kuroo had searched through the pockets.

When it was apparent that Semi wasn’t going to bite back a response, Shirabu carried the glass back toward the bar. Iwaizumi watched him go, bemused. 

“Hey, Semi?” asked Iwaizumi. “Is he wearing your jacket?”

“Huh?” Semi glanced up at Shirabu, who was rinsing the glass out behind the bar. “No. I wouldn’t wear that, it’s tacky as hell. Why?”

“I saw it in your locker,” said Iwaizumi. “When Kuroo was doing the search.”

“Oh.” Semi looked down at the table between them. “We’re short a couple of lockers since Ushijima hired a few new people. Sometimes Shirabu puts his shit in mine. I’ve told him to stop but he doesn’t listen.”

Iwaizumi looked away from Semi’s downturned eyes and back to Shirabu, who was wiping out the glass with a towel. “Why wouldn’t he share with someone else since the two of you don’t get along?”

Semi shrugged. He still wasn’t looking up. “Because he likes to inconvenience me, I guess.”

Shirabu put the glass on the shelf, tossed the towel beneath the counter, and circled around the freshly-cleaned bar. 

Iwaizumi couldn’t stop looking at that stupid purple jacket.

He thought about the day Semi brought a bag full of moxie to Oikawa’s apartment. He’d said the drugs had been left in his locker, a locker that was apparently shared by Shirabu without Semi’s consent.

Kyoutani’s dog had alerted on the same locker, and Semi had been particularly tense when Kuroo had searched the pockets of the jacket – Shirabu’s jacket.

Semi and Shirabu hadn’t been on good terms since Iwaizumi had met them. Their disdain for one another was clear, and it seemed to be heavier on Semi’s part, as if he had more reason to dislike Shirabu than he let on.

Someone had stowed away drugs in Semi’s apartment, someone that knew Semi had been released from jail. 

Maybe that someone had been anxious when Semi was released and wanted him to go back. Maybe they had called someone else – someone like Tendou Satori – to catch up on the situation, to confirm that Semi was out and that he wasn’t staying at his own apartment. Then maybe that someone felt safe sneaking in to hide the drugs.

Iwaizumi realized a beat too late that he wasn’t breathing. He sucked in a breath and blinked, only to find Shirabu staring back at him as he crossed the floor toward the exit.

Their gazes connected for a tripping heartbeat, and Iwaizumi felt gray static burst in the back of his brain.

Then Shirabu gave their table a cursory wave of farewell and left the club.

Iwaizumi forced himself to turn back toward Semi and Oikawa, who were talking about something he couldn’t follow.

Shirabu wasn’t behind this. 

He’d been investigated. He’d been perfectly composed during his interview, and his background check had been completely clear. There were no red flags. He was a decent guy. Semi only held a grudge against him because Shirabu was good at his job. That was the only source of the tension between them. Assuming anything else would have been ridiculous.

But his suspicion had been triggered, and Iwaizumi’s instincts were _screaming_.

“Hey, Semi?” said Iwaizumi, cutting off their conversation. “What did Shirabu do before he started working here?”

Semi seemed confused by the question, but there was a touch of suspicious uncertainty in the shine of his eyes. 

Iwaizumi was probably imagining it.

“He worked for some fancy corporation, I think,” said Semi. “He was a financial analyst or some shit like that.”

“How did he end up here?”

Semi shrugged. “Apparently he knew Ushijima from back in the day. When he decided to switch careers the boss offered him a job.” 

Iwaizumi mulled over that information for a moment. When he looked up he found Semi watching at him, more intently than he expected.

“Why,” said Semi, “are you asking?”

Iwaizumi thought about saying it. Semi’s reaction would have likely been a clear indication of whether he’d stumbled onto something or not. 

But it was just his intuition and a couple of events that could be coincidences. It wasn’t enough to accuse Shirabu of anything, and he didn’t want to make things awkward.

“No reason,” he said, shrugging it off. “Just wondering.”

Semi still looked at him strangely, but became distracted when Tendou ambled up to their table.

“All done!” he said brightly, stretching his lanky arms over his head. “Ready to go home, Semi-Semi?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Semi. He looked at Iwaizumi one last time before standing. “I’ll talk to you guys later. Guess I’ll need another babysitter in a couple of nights.”

“Iwa-chan and I are here for you,” said Oikawa, slinging an arm around Iwaizumi’s neck. “We’re better than babysitters. We would make great parents.”

“Your child would be hopeless,” said Semi flatly. 

“You’re hopeless,” said Tendou, grinning halfheartedly. “Come on. Let’s grab pizza on the way home.”

“It’s four o’clock,” said Semi, even as he fell into step beside Tendou. “Where do you expect to get pizza at four o’clock?”

Tendou probably answered, but they had wandered too far away for Iwaizumi to hear.

Besides, his mind was still elsewhere, skipping around the idea of Shirabu pushing drugs from behind the bar of Shiratorizawa.

He almost laughed at himself. There was no way in hell.

But still…

“Let’s go, Iwa-chan,” said Oikawa with a stretch. “I’m tired and I have to open the restaurant tomorrow. Semi’s a real pain in my ass.”

“I told you to go home two hours ago, Trashykawa.”

“But you weren’t going to be there. Come home with me.”

Iwaizumi wanted to. He really did. At least half of his nights were spent with Oikawa, whether at his boyfriend’s apartment or his own. He was satisfied with the arrangement, satisfied with the extra hours of Oikawa’s company. 

He wanted to say yes, but something stopped him. It was that itching feeling in the back of his skull, insisting that he acknowledge the suspicions that had blossomed within the span of a few quick seconds. 

He needed time to think.

“Not tonight,” he said, starting toward the door. Oikawa immediately followed. “You need to go home and get some sleep. You have to work tomorrow.”

“I can sleep if you’re there with me, Iwa-chan,” said Oikawa with a roll of his eyes.

Iwaizumi turned on his heel and stepped close to Oikawa, so close that their chests nearly touched.

“If I go home with you,” he said, voice low and serious, “you’re not going to be getting any sleep.”

For a moment Oikawa looked shocked. Then his face melted into something heated, eyes flashing as he grinned. “I like the sound of that. I don’t need sleep.”

He kissed Iwaizumi, pressing some of that heat into his lips. Iwaizumi kissed him back, a hand rising to thread into the back of Oikawa’s hair, pushing their mouths more firmly together. 

Then Iwaizumi took a step back, ignoring his body’s reaction to Oikawa. “Yes, you do,” he said, his voice a little deeper than it had been a moment before. “You have to work. I’ll come over tomorrow when your shift is over.”

Oikawa heaved a dramatic sigh and popped his lower lip into a pout. “You don’t like me, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi snorted. “You know that’s not true. I must like you quite a bit to put up with your shit all the time.”

“You’re mean.”

“And you’re beautiful,” said Iwaizumi, flicking Oikawa’s bangs out of his face before again starting toward the door. “Let’s go.”

They parted ways at the intersection outside the club. Oikawa pressed close for another kiss and Iwaizumi gladly obliged.

As he soaked in the warmth of Oikawa’s mouth and the playful flick of his tongue, he thought back to when they’d first met. Two months ago, he wouldn’t have dared to kiss someone in public like this.

But two months ago, he hadn’t been falling in love with Oikawa Tooru.

After a few more lingering kisses they broke apart and headed in different directions. Iwaizumi often hailed a cab to get home, but this time he walked. He needed the extra time to think.

When Iwaizumi had still been part of the investigation, he’d read through the employee files a number of times. He’d replayed the interviews in his head repeatedly, looking for even the slightest hints of dishonesty.

Shirabu had never tripped his radar. He was calm and polite, and had never appeared stressed by any aspect of the investigation. He’d given them no reason to suspect him at all.

But Iwaizumi still had that itch in the back of his mind, the itch that insisted it wasn’t that simple.

Semi had found drugs in his locker. Shirabu shared his locker.

Semi had found drugs in his apartment, a possible attempt at framing him. Shirabu had known he’d just been released from jail.

Semi hated Shirabu, ostensibly for invading his territory and performing well at his job, but Semi didn’t really seem that petty.

When Iwaizumi and Kuroo had interviewed Shirabu in the back of Shiratorizawa, the bartender had offered Semi’s name in what had appeared to be reluctance, but could have been his attempt to shake the suspicion off of himself and onto a more susceptible party.

It was all just speculation. There wasn’t proof of anything, because there was probably no proof to be found. It couldn’t be Shirabu. 

Suddenly, as the itch intensified, Iwaizumi remembered the report he’d read at the station, when he’d coerced Matsukawa into accessing the case files.

The third victim, upon waking from her coma, had confirmed that the man who’d sold her the moxie had been the bartender.

Iwaizumi came to a dead stop in the middle of the sidewalk.

According to Yaku’s report, the woman had been certain that the bartender was the seller. But that certainty had become unclear when she’d positively identified Semi.

Iwaizumi wondered what would happen if she was shown a picture of Shirabu instead.

When he started walking again it was at a quicker pace. He arrived home shortly after. He marched into the middle of the apartment and just stood there, his mind reeling.

He wanted to call Kuroo, but feared it would be a fruitless conversation. Kuroo was done with him; he’d made that clear. If Kuroo was going to listen to anything he said, Iwaizumi had to approach him the right way. 

Or maybe he shouldn’t say anything at all, because suspecting Shirabu still felt a little surreal.

Iwaizumi stared down at his phone, the screen displaying Kuroo’s contact info. He tossed it onto the kitchen counter and stomped to the bathroom.

It was a longer shower than he was accustomed to. He stood beneath the hot spray, soaking in the heat and the steam and the flurry of his own thoughts. The more he thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed that Shirabu was the culprit. But beneath his rational thought, he was growing more and more certain that something wasn’t right.

He had to call Kuroo. He had to at least try.

By the time he finished his shower, it was nearly five o’clock. Kuroo was almost certainly still in bed. It would be more courteous of him to wait a few hours and go down to the station to talk to him. 

But the more he considered it, the more he felt this couldn’t wait.

He dried himself off and slipped into a pair of old sweatpants. He stepped out of the bedroom and grabbed his cell off the counter. The last thing he’d looked at on his phone was Kuroo’s contact info, but when he unlocked the screen, it was a picture of Oikawa that smiled back. It was a selfie that Oikawa had taken a week before, joking that Iwaizumi needed something nice to look at every now and then. It was a good picture. Oikawa’s smile was genuine, eyes bright, the smooth waves of his hair flawless. More importantly, he looked happy and relaxed, a state that had been harder to achieve in light of recent events.

Iwaizumi stared at the picture, and a cold prickle crawled up the back of his neck.

He whirled to face the living room, his hand going to his hip automatically to snatch at a gun that wasn’t there.

A head of mousy brown hair was visible over the back of his couch, a pair of cold eyes watching him.

“Iwaizumi-san,” said Shirabu, his demeanor cutting yet polite. “I would appreciate if you don’t panic. I would rather not hurt you. But I will if I must.”


	22. Chapter 22

One of the most difficult hurdles to cross when learning to be a successful police officer is the removal of one’s sense of self-preservation. High school students everywhere are aware of the infamous “Fight or Flight” response to danger. What they typically aren’t informed of is the third, more common option: “Freeze.”

In most cases when there is a crisis, an individual’s first reaction is to freeze. That buys them a moment to assess the situation, to decide whether fighting or flying would be the most appropriate response. 

Iwaizumi was no different. When he’d entered the police academy for his training, he’d experienced the same difficulties as his fellow officers when working through scenarios. He would hesitate for a second too long before reacting, just long enough for someone to fire off a fatal gunshot. He ended up dead in several staged situations, and no matter how much he was reprimanded, he couldn’t get past that impulsive half-second of freezing. 

Then, one day, he was paired with one of his fellow trainees in an active shooter scenario. They entered the building side-by-side, fake guns clutched tightly in sweaty hands. They’d cleared most of the building before stepping through a half-shadowed doorway and Iwaizumi had detected motion from the corner of his eye. 

He’d started to say something, but the words caught in his throat, because he wasn’t _positive_. In that moment the pretend-shooter fired a rubber bullet into his partner’s chest, and he’d hypothetically died. 

If it had been a real-life situation, Iwaizumi would have been responsible for the death of one of his fellow officers, all because he’d hesitated. 

Ever since that day, his “Fight, Flight, or Freeze” instinct had _always_ defaulted to “Fight”. 

Iwaizumi was across the room before he’d consciously told himself to move. His shoulder slammed into the wall by the door and he scrabbled at his duty belt, which hung from the peg he’d hammered into the wall years before. He slid his gun out of the holster and spun toward the couch, the entire affair taking less than two and a half seconds. 

Shirabu looked blankly at the gun, staring into the shadowed barrel without fear. 

“Would you really shoot me?” he said, unimpressed. “That isn’t very professional, Iwaizumi-san.” He patted the cushion beside him. “I just want to talk to you. Have a seat.” 

“How did you get in?” said Iwaizumi, his voice louder than necessary. That was also a product of training. 

“Lockpick,” answered Shirabu simply. “You should really invest in a security system.” 

Iwaizumi’s heart fluttered madly in his chest, but his breath remained even, hands steady as he stared Shirabu down over the sights of the pistol. “Get up,” he said, “and walk over here slowly.” 

Shirabu looked as if he was suppressing an eye roll. “I’m quite comfortable over here, thank you.” 

“I’m not playing games. Get up. Now.” 

Shirabu sighed. He shifted a little and stretched his arm over the back of the couch. He extended a fist toward Iwaizumi and dropped a handful of bullets. They skittered across the floor, bouncing and rolling and causing a metallic commotion. 

Iwaizumi’s grip shifted and he popped the slide out of his gun. 

It was empty. The bullets had been removed. 

His mouth went dry. 

“Put that away,” said Shirabu, “and come talk to me. That’s all I’m asking for, Iwaizumi-san. There’s no need to be difficult.” 

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure he had a choice. 

Shirabu had left the emptied gun, which meant he didn’t feel he needed it. It was likely he was hiding his own weapon somewhere beneath that ugly purple jacket. 

Iwaizumi turned, painfully aware that his back was to the enemy, and slid his gun back into the holster on his duty belt. His fingers brushed over one of the other pouches and he cleared his throat to disguise the click. 

He approached the couch warily. Shirabu sat on the far end, his polite attention fixed on Iwaizumi. His face was relaxed, as if he was visiting an old friend, but his eyes were bitterly cold. 

“Have a seat, Iwaizumi-san.” 

“I’d rather stand.” 

Shirabu shrugged. He settled back against the couch, adjusting his position a little. Iwaizumi didn’t miss the way his hand never strayed far from the front pocket of his jacket. 

“Why are you here?” asked Iwaizumi, trying to remain calm. This was strange territory. He didn’t know what would set Shirabu off and what would make him violent. No matter how relaxed he seemed, everyone had their triggers. 

“How did you know?” asked Shirabu. 

Iwaizumi tried to keep his expression blank. “Know what?” 

Shirabu smiled, and it was switchblade-sharp. “You know what, Iwaizumi-san. When you left Shiratorizawa I saw it in your eyes. You know, and I’d like you to tell me how. It wasn’t Semi, and no one else that you’ve spoken to tonight had any idea. How did you know?” 

Iwaizumi considered denying it. If he pretended he didn’t know what was going on, maybe Shirabu would leave. Maybe he would let it go and offer Iwaizumi an apology for his trouble and just be on his way. 

And maybe he was going to get himself killed if he didn’t stay focused. 

“I figured it out,” said Iwaizumi. “It was the jacket. Our canine unit alerted on Semi’s locker when they searched the club, and the jacket was in it. I know there were drugs in that locker, and I know Semi didn’t put them there.” 

“Ah,” said Shirabu. “So my mistake was tormenting Semi. I see.” 

Iwaizumi didn’t quite understand that, but wasn’t in a position to press for further information. 

“Have you told anyone?” asked Shirabu. 

If he said no, then that would mean that the easiest solution would be to eliminate Iwaizumi. That would protect Shirabu’s secret. 

“Yes,” said Iwaizumi. “I called my captain on the way home. He’s looking into it right now.” 

Shirabu smiled again, sharply, but his eyes remained cold. “Don’t lie to me, Iwaizumi-san. Practice good manners.” 

“I’m not-”

“I checked your phone while you were in the shower,” said Shirabu. “You haven’t made any calls since yesterday evening.” 

Iwaizumi shut his mouth. His entire body prickled with unease. 

“That was a nice picture of Oikawa,” said Shirabu conversationally. “The two of you have gotten very close.” 

His tone wasn’t threatening, but Iwaizumi couldn’t help but feel there was a spark of danger beneath his words. It was the only thing that kept him from lashing out at the mention of Oikawa’s name. 

“I’m willing to make a deal with you,” said Shirabu. “I think you’ll like it. Sit down.” 

This time Iwaizumi did sit. He wasn’t sure how much longer his legs would support him, anyway. He dropped onto the opposite end of the couch, eyes still fixed on Shirabu. 

Shirabu’s posture relaxed a little more. He seemed content. “You’ve gotten surprisingly close with Semi, too,” he said. “How strange. An officer and a felon.” 

“You set him up,” said Iwaizumi. He was furious, but his voice was bland. He couldn’t afford to express his anger, not when the situation was so volatile. “You’re going to let him go to prison for your crimes.” 

“It isn’t like it’s his first time.” Shirabu shrugged. “He’s used to it.” 

Iwaizumi’s fingers clenched around empty air. “How did you convince him not to sell you out?” 

“I gave him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Much like the one I’m going to give you, Iwaizumi-san.” 

The tension between them was so thick that Iwaizumi thought he may choke on it. 

“Semi got soft when he got out of prison,” said Shirabu. “That was his mistake. He got comfortable and let people get close to him. When you care about someone else more than yourself, you do stupid things.” 

Iwaizumi said nothing. 

“Semi cares a little too much about one person in particular,” said Shirabu. “He cares so much that he’d rather spend the rest of his life in prison than watch that person die. Love is a beautiful, stupid thing, isn’t it?” 

Iwaizumi suddenly found it a little harder to breathe. If he’d had any questions about where this conversation was going, it was now becoming quite clear. 

“I tried to be friends with Semi,” said Shirabu. He spoke casually, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “When I discovered his sordid past I wanted to work with him. I wanted to rebuild his Osaka empire here in Tokyo. It was his own fault that he refused. All I managed to get out of him were a few tips, and I had to threaten to spill all of his secrets just to get that.” Shirabu sighed. “That stopped working, and I had to resort to more drastic measures to make sure he kept his mouth shut.” 

Iwaizumi remained silent. Even if he’d been able to speak, he wouldn’t have known what to say. They were about to step into dangerous territory. He felt it approaching, like a wolf stalking nearer in the shadows. 

“I didn’t follow you here, you know,” said Shirabu. He was still calm and collected, still unruffled. “I already knew where you live. I know everything about everyone involved in the case. I know where Kuroo Tetsurou lives, and that he has a large black cat he treats like a child. I know where Kai Nobuyuki and Fukunaga Shouhei live, and Yamamoto Taketora, and Inuoka Sou. I know where Kozume Kenma spends his time outside of work, and that Haiba Lev visits his sister in Hokkaido every other weekend, and that Yaku Morisuke instructs defensive training at the rec center on Friday nights.” 

Iwaizumi couldn’t breathe. 

“I know about other officers, as well,” continued Shirabu. “Not just investigators. I know all about Hanamaki Takahiro and Matsukawa Issei. I know about their relationship with one another and I know about their close friendship with their sergeant. So close, in fact, I’m sure they would do anything for you, even if it meant risking their lives. Would you do the same for them, Iwaizumi-san?” 

“Leave them out of it,” said Iwaizumi. His voice sounded distant, almost inaudible amid the ringing in his ears. 

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt your friends.” Shirabu smiled again. “After all, they’re police officers. I don’t make a career of assassinating police officers. That’s an accident waiting to happen. Even if you leave this apartment right now and tell the world everything I’ve said to you, I won’t go after them.” 

The promise did nothing to ease Iwaizumi’s tension. His chest was so tight he thought his heart must have burst. 

“Your new boyfriend, however,” said Shirabu, “is a different story.” 

Iwaizumi had thought his legs were going to give out before, but when he leapt to his feet they supported him without any problems. He lunged at Shirabu, fingers hooked into claws, intending to drag him off of the couch and beat him within an inch of his life. 

But he pulled up short when Shirabu’s hand dipped into his pocket and came back out with a gun. 

He held it between them with practiced ease, creating a barrier that Iwaizumi didn’t dare to cross. 

Iwaizumi had wielded his gun as a threat, but he probably wouldn’t have shot Shirabu. 

Shirabu didn’t look as if he had any such reservations. 

Iwaizumi took a step back, hands dropping to his sides. 

“I don’t want to make a scene,” said Shirabu. “I said I just want to talk. When we’re finished, I’ll leave.” 

“What do you want?” Iwaizumi’s voice was hoarse, defeated. 

“I don’t want anything,” he said, “except your silence. You aren’t going to tell anyone I was here. You aren’t going to tell anyone you suspect me. I’m perfectly aware that you could drop hints without stating it outright, but you won’t. You won’t give any indication that I’m anything except an innocent bartender who had the misfortune of working alongside Semi Eita, the convicted felon who fell back into his old criminal ways. No one will find out. I’ll know if you say anything, Iwaizumi-san. If you do, you’ll pay for your indiscretion in blood, and it won’t be yours. I’m somewhat fond of Oikawa, so I’d prefer not to kill him, but if you even think too hard about turning me in then I won’t hesitate.” 

There were no empty threats, no bluster. He was perfectly serious. 

Iwaizumi believed him. 

“Don’t hurt him.” 

“Then keep your mouth shut,” said Shirabu, “and I won’t have to. Do we have a deal?” 

Iwaizumi’s fingers were numb. He flexed them, tried to feel something, but it was like he was a phantom. It didn’t feel as if he was really standing there. It was like he was an observer, looking out of someone else’s eyes, completely disconnected. 

“Please,” he said, the word passing through numb lips. 

“Do we have a deal, Iwaizumi-san?” 

Iwaizumi’s mouth was full of cotton. It pressed against his tongue, making it almost impossible to speak. “Yeah.” 

“Are we going to have any problems?” 

“No.” 

Shirabu nodded, satisfied. “Excellent.” He rose and tucked the gun back into his pocket. For a moment Iwaizumi considered lunging at him, but something about the sharpness of Shirabu’s gaze indicated it would be a bad idea. Even if he couldn’t get his gun quickly enough, Shirabu was likely a force to be reckoned with. 

And if Iwaizumi failed to subdue him, Oikawa was the one who would suffer. 

“I’ll be going, then,” said Shirabu. He circled the couch and moved toward the door, keeping Iwaizumi in sight from the corner of his eye. “It was nice talking to you, Iwaizumi-san. When you return to Shiratorizawa I expect you to behave normally. If you give anything away even by accident, the punishment will be the same.” 

“I won’t,” said Iwaizumi thickly. 

“Have a good night, then.” Shirabu gave him a condescending smile and a wave of his fingers before he stepped out of Iwaizumi’s apartment and shut the door behind him. 

Iwaizumi stared at the door for a long while, certain that Shirabu would waltz back in and shoot him. He almost wished he would. Things would be simpler. 

He would rather be dead himself than imagine Oikawa meeting the same fate. 

Iwaizumi collapsed on the couch, his legs finally giving out. He didn’t feel the impact, nor did he feel the heat in his eyes until he blinked and realized his vision was clouded with moisture. He touched his fingers to his face and they came away wet. 

If he’d been capable of feeling anything at that point, he would have been surprised. Iwaizumi Hajime didn’t cry. He couldn’t remember the last time he had. The knowledge that there were actual tears on his face was confusing, and he thought maybe all of this had been a dream after all. 

He brought a hand to his mouth and bit down on his busted knuckles. 

The pain lanced all the way up his arm, bright and blazing. 

It wasn’t a dream. 

He laid back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. He tried to think, but it was like a thick blanket had been wrapped around his brain, preventing him from accessing his rational thoughts. He knew the situation was bad, and he knew he should be panicking, but he was just so _numb_.

Semi really was innocent. He’d been the victim all along, a pawn in Shirabu’s game. Shirabu had played his part well. Iwaizumi had never given him a second glance, nor had Kuroo. If it hadn’t been for the purple jacket, Iwaizumi wouldn’t have known the truth. If it hadn’t been for the purple jacket, he would have been curled up in his boyfriend’s bed. 

Instead, he was considering the very real possibility that, if he did the right thing and exposed Shirabu, Oikawa would die. 

He had to tell Kuroo. There was no way around it. Iwaizumi was a police officer. His role in the world was to uphold justice. Letting Semi go to prison for something he didn’t do wasn’t justice. Allowing Shirabu to remain on the streets, pushing moxie and causing fatal overdoses, wasn’t justice. Iwaizumi couldn’t allow that to happen and continue living with himself. 

But _Oikawa_.

Iwaizumi abruptly pushed himself off of the couch and started collecting the scatter of bullets from the floor. When he had a handful, he trekked back to the door, where his duty belt hung waiting. He pulled out his gun and reloaded it with practiced fingers, the process made slower by his violent shaking. 

He pushed the slide in, replaced the gun, and fumbled with the switch of his bodycam, which was tucked in a pouch beside the holster. 

He’d flipped it on when he’d resholstered his gun. The video would be useless since it was still in the pouch, but it recorded audio, too. It had caught the entire conversation with Shirabu, including his confession and threats. 

It would be enough for an easy conviction, enough to put Shirabu in prison for the rest of his life. 

But that didn’t matter, because Iwaizumi couldn’t risk Oikawa. 

He wondered, briefly, what Shirabu had threatened Semi with. 

It took only a moment for him to conclude that it must have been Tendou. 

Semi, an ex-convict and felon, had taken Shirabu seriously enough to accept another, longer term in prison. That in itself was enough to convince Iwaizumi that Shirabu’s threats were serious. 

If Iwaizumi told, Shirabu would hurt Oikawa. 

But he couldn’t let Shirabu get away with this, either. 

He looked at the couch and a chill crawled up his spine, creeping like a long-legged spider. 

He couldn’t shake the feeling that Shirabu was still watching somehow, waiting to see what he would do. 

It was making him antsy. He started shaking even more, limbs trembling as he stumbled into the bathroom and fell to his knees just in time to heave into the toilet. 

He wished Shirabu had just killed him. 

  
  
  
  
An hour later he was on Oikawa’s doorstep, greeted by his boyfriend’s sleepy surprise. 

“Iwa-chan?” said Oikawa, voice muddled. “What are you doing?” 

“Can I stay with you?” 

Oikawa blinked a few times. Then his brows furrowed and his eyes came a little more into focus. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. I just want to stay with you.” He nudged his way past Oikawa and entered the apartment. “Sorry I woke you up. Come on, get back in bed and we’ll-”

Oikawa caught Iwaizumi’s wrist and tugged him back. “What’s wrong?” he repeated, the words harder. 

Iwaizumi looked at him and then glanced to the side, eyeing the wall as if it interested him. “Nothing, Shittykawa. I just missed you, okay?” 

Oikawa’s grip tightened around his wrist. “I would appreciate,” he said slowly, “if you didn’t lie to me.” 

Iwaizumi met his eyes for a fleeting moment, then had to look away again. He reached out blindly and wrapped his arms around Oikawa’s waist, pulling him close. He buried his face in Oikawa’s shoulder and breathed him in. 

Oikawa’s palms pressed against his back. It was probably meant to be comforting, but Iwaizumi was fairly certain that nothing would comfort him ever again. 

“Hajime,” Oikawa whispered. He pulled back a little and brushed his fingers across Iwaizumi’s cheek. His fingertips shone, and Iwaizumi realized too late that he was crying again. “Please talk to me.” 

“I can’t,” said Iwaizumi, the words choked. He tried to clear his throat, but it didn’t work. It was desperation that was lodged there, and that was more difficult to cast away. “I really can’t. Please just let me stay.” 

He thought Oikawa would argue. He thought he would demand an answer, and tell Iwaizumi to get out if he still refused to give one. 

But Oikawa gripped his wrist again and led him to the bedroom, where they crawled beneath the sheets together. Occasionally Iwaizumi would hiccup a sob, unable to hold it back any longer. Each time he expected Oikawa to push him away. 

But Oikawa only held him more tightly, and Iwaizumi was certain that this was what love must feel like. 

Oikawa’s fingers stroked his hair, his nails gently scratching against his scalp. Iwaizumi leaned into the contact and wished he could lie there forever. He wished nothing else existed outside of that room. 

“Do you want to talk about it now?” whispered Oikawa, when they’d been lying there for a while. 

“No.” Iwaizumi’s voice was stronger, though his insides still felt hollow. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Tooru.” 

Oikawa sighed, but relented. “Do you need anything?” 

“Just you.” 

“I’m right here. I’ll always be here, Iwa-chan.” 

Only until he was murdered because of Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi’s breath caught. He pulled Oikawa more tightly against him, nuzzling his face into a wave of copper hair. “I love you, Tooru,” he said, the words dripping with sweet honesty. He felt like he needed to say it, like he may not get the chance later. 

He felt Oikawa stiffen, and for a moment he thought he’d solved his own problem by ruining his relationship. 

Oikawa peeled himself out of Iwaizumi’s grip and looked at him, eyes wide. “Iwa-chan,” he whispered. “Are you dying?” 

“No.” _But you might be_.

Oikawa smiled, and it was absolutely beautiful. 

Oikawa kissed him, chaste and gentle. “I love you, too, Iwa-chan,” he murmured against his lips. “I really, really do.” 

Iwaizumi was twenty-nine years old. Up until this point in his life, he had needed no one but himself. Friends were nice, Mattsun and Makki especially, but if necessary, he could live without them. 

Oikawa was different. 

Now that Iwaizumi had found him, he couldn’t lose him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to; it was that he literally could not. 

Life before Oikawa had been fine. 

Life after him would be cold and dark and miserable. 

He couldn’t lose him, but he couldn’t sit back and let Shirabu get away, either. 

Iwaizumi didn’t know what he was supposed to do. 


	23. Chapter 23

Iwaizumi didn’t sleep that night.

He became intimately familiar with the patterns of Oikawa’s breathing and the steady thrum of his heartbeat. He ran his fingers through Oikawa’s hair more times than he could count, and traced the neat line of his jaw while he slept. 

Iwaizumi didn’t sleep, and his mind wouldn’t stop churning.

Oikawa didn’t wake up until eleven, which wasn’t surprising, considering the late night they’d had. He didn’t have to be at the restaurant until two, so Iwaizumi hadn’t bothered waking him.

Oikawa stirred with a low murmur and a sleepy smile. His eyes peeled open to find Iwaizumi, and the content haze of morning dropped off of his face.

He raised a hand between them and pressed the pads of his fingers beneath Iwaizumi’s eyes, against the dark rings that looked like bruises. “Did you even sleep, Iwa-chan?” he said, a puff of his morning breath floating into Iwaizumi’s face.

Iwaizumi nudged his hand away and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “Don’t worry about it. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Stop it. You can’t just say nothing and expect-”

“I’m going to make you breakfast,” said Iwaizumi, “and then we need to talk.”

Oikawa’s protests died on his lips. 

“Last night,” said Oikawa quietly, “when you said you love me… Did you change your mind?”

Iwaizumi cupped the side of Oikawa’s face and brushed a thumb over a pale cheekbone. “I’ll never change my mind. It’s not about that.”

Oikawa looked only a little relieved. “Okay. I guess I’ll go shower then. Do you want to?”

“No, I’ll just make breakfast. Are eggs and rice okay?”

Oikawa nodded, and Iwaizumi slipped out of the bed. He felt Oikawa’s eyes on him as he left the room, but didn’t look over his shoulder to check.

He didn’t want to look too long at what he might lose.

Oikawa was fond of long, unnecessary showers, but that morning he was in and out in less than ten minutes. 

Iwaizumi still stood at the stove, not acknowledging Oikawa’s presence as he crept into the kitchen and sat at the table.

Neither of them spoke. Iwaizumi dished out their breakfasts onto two plates, served one to his boyfriend, and stared blankly at his own while Oikawa ate.

“Eat, Iwa-chan.”

“I’m not hungry.” He pushed his plate across the table. “Have the rest.”

Oikawa pushed it back. “I don’t want it.”

Iwaizumi didn’t argue with him. He didn’t have the energy.

Oikawa stood and circled the table, dropping into the chair beside Iwaizumi instead. He shifted forward so their knees touched and trapped one of Iwaizumi’s hands between his own. “Talk to me.”

The last thing Iwaizumi wanted was to tell Oikawa what was wrong. But, during his sleepless night, he’d determined it was the only thing he could do. It wasn’t fair to keep it from him, not when he was directly affected. He deserved to know.

“I know who’s selling the drugs,” he said bluntly. He was too exhausted to phrase it more gently. “I know who’s framing Semi.”

Oikawa blinked once, and his eyes brightened. “That’s good!” he said, leaning closer. When Iwaizumi’s face didn’t change, his eagerness died down. “That’s… good, right, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi swallowed. “They… _he_ … showed up at my apartment last night. He knew I found out.”

Oikawa’s face went slack, but his fingers tightened around Iwaizumi’s. “What?”

Iwaizumi’s mouth shaped words, but none of them would form.

“Who is it?” said Oikawa, edging closer. 

Iwaizumi shook his head. He’d already decided he wasn’t going to tell him. “I can’t say.”

“But Iwa-chan-”

“I can’t say,” repeated Iwaizumi, “because if I tell anyone, he’s going to come after you.”

He expected a certain reaction from Oikawa, one that included shock and fear and a complete withdrawal from their relationship.

What he received instead was a flash of copper eyes and a furrowed brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” said Oikawa sharply. 

“It means he knows you’re important to me, and he’s using that to keep his secret.”

“Yeah, I got that,” said Oikawa. “Why haven’t you told your annoying detective friend yet?”

Iwaizumi stared at him. Clearly Oikawa wasn’t listening. “Didn’t you hear me? If I tell him-”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” said Oikawa, waving away the explanation. “Look, Iwa-chan, it doesn’t matter. If you know who it is then you have to go after them. You can’t let Semi go to prison just because you’re afraid something might happen to me. You can’t let this asshole get away. It’s your job to take him out. You have to.”

“I’ll quit my job,” said Iwaizumi. He was somewhat surprised to find that he meant it. “Then I won’t have any obligations. You’re more important. I don’t think you understand how serious this is.”

“I’m not stupid, Iwa-chan. I’ve been around these kinds of people before, remember?” He squeezed Iwaizumi’s hand. “My boyfriend is a police officer. I’m not afraid of anyone.”

Iwaizumi yanked his hand away. “You’re not taking this seriously, Oikawa.”

“Yes, I am. You have to take care of this and you know it. If you let him go you’ll never forgive yourself.”

“If something happens to you I’ll never forgive myself.”

Oikawa pressed his hands on either side of Iwaizumi’s face and coaxed him into eye contact. “Hajime, please. If you tell your detective friend then you can all get together and corner him before he has a chance to do anything. I’m not scared. You’ll protect me. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t. I couldn’t even protect myself last night.”

Oikawa tilted his head. “You look fine to me.”

“Only because he decided not to kill me.”

“You have to do this, Hajime,” said Oikawa, his voice suddenly gentle. “I know it’s hard, but you have to. You know it, too, or you wouldn’t have told me at all. You just needed my permission, since I’m the one he threatened. Well, you have it. I want you to do it.”

“If something happens to you-”

“It won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Please, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa rolled his eyes. “I’m with you ninety percent of the time anyway. You can be my personal bodyguard. We could move in together, if that would make you feel better.”

It would, in more ways than one, but Iwaizumi couldn’t focus on that right now.

“Oikawa, listen-”

“No, _you_ listen,” said Oikawa. His expression turned fierce, eyes flashing. “There isn’t an option here. You can’t let the bad guy get away. You have to go tell that asshole Kuroo right now, before it’s too late. I’ll go with you, if you want, but it has to be done.”

The words stung, but Iwaizumi knew they were true.

It had to be done, and he knew it.

Just the thought made him want to cry again.

“I’m afraid,” he said, voice raw. “I’m afraid he’ll come after you.”

“It’s scary,” Oikawa agreed, subdued, “but you don’t have a choice. It’s the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do.”

He was right.

He was right, and Iwaizumi hated it.

He pulled Oikawa into a kiss, committing to memory the taste of his mouth. 

He cared about Oikawa more than he’d ever cared about anyone. He wasn’t willing to lose him, not over this. He would do whatever he could to make sure that didn’t happen.

But even that might not be enough.

  
  
  
  
Upon Oikawa’s insistence, they went to the police department after stopping by Iwaizumi’s apartment.

Iwaizumi was on edge, even though he hadn’t technically done anything yet. He kept looking over his shoulder, expecting to see those flat, expressionless eyes staring back.

He picked up the bodycam to present to Kuroo, because he knew the captain wouldn’t believe him otherwise. He also strapped on his shoulder holster and fitted his gun into it, hidden neatly beneath his jacket.

He’d never shot anyone, but if it was to protect Oikawa, he would do anything.

Oikawa sat outside Kuroo’s office while Iwaizumi talked to the captain. The conversation went about as badly as he’d expected, including the indignant yelling, until he gave Kuroo the recording and insisted that he play it.

Kuroo argued, but after a while he gave in and played the tape, just so Iwaizumi would give up and leave.

As he listened to the audio of the previous night’s conversation, Kuroo’s impatience gradually dissolved into distant horror.

He didn’t ask any more questions.

He called in the SWAT team, looked up Shirabu’s address, and left Iwaizumi and Oikawa in the lobby of the investigations department.

Oikawa held his hand as they waited, forcing casual conversation about the weather and the wallpaper and Kuroo’s horrendous hairstyle.

Iwaizumi was too nervous to humor him, and eventually the random snippets came to a stop.

Still Oikawa was there, warm against Iwaizumi’s side, a presence that wasn’t quite comforting enough to convince Iwaizumi that he wasn’t going to break beneath the pressure.

When Iwaizumi’s phone rang an hour later, he startled and nearly fell out of his chair. He answered it quickly, holding his breath as Kuroo spoke on the other end.

“We got in,” said Kuroo. “There are about twelve pounds of moxie here. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

Iwaizumi didn’t respond.

There was a long silence, and then Kuroo said, “But Shirabu is… gone. It’s obvious he cleaned out the important stuff. There are a couple holes busted out of the walls. I’m thinking that’s where he had money hidden, and he had to collect it fast before he left. I’ve got Yaku and Kai at Shiratorizawa trying to get information from Ushijima, but it looks like he hasn’t heard anything, either.”

There was something thick and heavy in Iwaizumi’s lungs. It tasted like fear.

“It’s going to be alright, Iwaizumi,” said Kuroo, sensing it. “He’s probably left town already. We’ll put out a BOLO to the other PDs. He’ll turn up soon. The bastard can’t hide forever.”

“He didn’t leave,” said Iwaizumi. His voice was surprisingly composed. Oikawa clutched his arm, and it was probably meant to be comforting. “He’s still here somewhere. He wasn’t joking, Kuroo. He’ll come back for us.” _For Oikawa_.

“I won’t let that happen. I’ll put an officer on Oikawa at all times until we track Shirabu down. We’re going to keep him safe, Iwaizumi. I swear.”

Iwaizumi wanted to believe him, but he just couldn’t.

“I can’t lose him, Kuroo.”

“I said I’ll take care of it. Trust me.”

That wasn’t going to happen. Iwaizumi would never trust Kuroo completely again, not after the debacle with Semi, not after he’d torn through Oikawa’s apartment searching for evidence that wasn’t there.

But Kuroo was all he had right now.

“Sure,” said Iwaizumi. It didn’t even sound like his voice. “Whatever you say.”

“Just stay there for now. Once we’re finished cleaning this place out I’ll come back and we’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah.”

He hung up, and the phone slipped through his fingers to clatter to the floor. Iwaizumi folded over and pressed his hands over his face, his desperation rising like high tide.

“Iwa-chan.” Oikawa’s arms were around him, trying to drag him from the depths. “Stop worrying so much. They’ll find him. It’s going to be okay.”

“He was probably watching me,” said Iwaizumi, the words muffled into his palms. “He knew I was coming to see Kuroo. He knew I was going to turn him in. I’m so fucking _stupid_.”

Oikawa rubbed gentle circles into his back. “No, you’re not. You did what you had to do. It was the only thing to do. Everything will be okay.”

“What if it’s not?”

“It will be,” said Oikawa firmly. “Shirabu isn’t that tough, anyway. He’s not really going to come after me.”

That wasn’t true. Iwaizumi knew it, but he wasn’t sure if Oikawa did.

Iwaizumi had seen the coldness of a killer in Shirabu’s eyes. If he got a shot at Oikawa, he was going to take it.

Iwaizumi wished Shirabu could have been more typical and just threatened Iwaizumi’s life. That wouldn’t have been so bad. He could have lived with looking around every corner, wondering if it would be the day that someone popped a bullet in his skull.

But he couldn’t live like this, knowing that Oikawa’s safety was at stake and it was his fault.

Oikawa gave him a light slap to the back of the head. “Stop sulking, Iwa-chan. It’s unbecoming.”

Iwaizumi couldn’t even raise his head to look at him.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” said Oikawa. “I could die? So what? At least now Shirabu has been found out. He’s not going to get away with this anymore. That means a lot of other people might live instead. It’s worth it.”

That coaxed Iwaizumi into movement. He sat up straight, eyes burning into Oikawa. “Shut up,” he said, his voice rough. “I don’t care about that. I’d rather watch this whole fucking city burn than lose you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do. I’d set it on fire myself.”

“Stop it, Iwa-chan.”

“I can’t lose you.”

“And you won’t,” said Oikawa. He wrapped his arms around Iwaizumi’s shoulders. “You’re not getting rid of me, Iwa-chan. Never. I promise you won’t lose me.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’ll keep it.”

It took Kuroo two hours to get back.

If Iwaizumi cried again during that time, no one had to know.

  
  
  
  
“The detective apologized to me,” said Semi. He stabbed at the ice cubes in his glass with his straw, not looking at anyone. “He said that since I was wrongfully arrested they’re not going to charge me with the moxie they found in my apartment.” He snorted. “As if it was mine, anyway.”

For someone who had just been informed that his impending prison sentence had been wiped away, Semi was not pleased.

Iwaizumi understood why. He would have understood even if it wasn’t for the furtive glances that Semi slid toward Oikawa every few minutes, as if checking to make sure he was still there.

It made Iwaizumi’s chest burn with guilt.

A week had passed since Iwaizumi had revealed the true criminal’s identity. Shirabu’s face was plastered across every form of media, along with the promise that information leading to his arrest would result in a substantial reward. 

So far they’d found nothing.

Kuroo still insisted that Shirabu must have fled the city, but Iwaizumi wasn’t convinced. 

It wasn’t going to be that easy.

The front door of Sapphire Grove opened, and Iwaizumi snapped his head up.

The couple who entered were in their sixties, unlikely to have been recruited by Shirabu for purposes of assassination.

Oikawa hopped out of his seat to greet them, having been assigned to host duty in his employees’ absence. One of the regular hosts was sick and apparently the other insisted on taking care of him, so Oikawa had been forced to cover.

Iwaizumi and Semi sat at a table with a full view of the door, because Iwaizumi still expected an attempt to be made on Oikawa’s life at any moment.

He felt Semi looking at him, but his eyes darted away as soon as Iwaizumi looked back.

“I know,” said Iwaizumi. Semi didn’t have to speak. He knew exactly what he was thinking. They’d been in close proximity over the past week, but it had never been mentioned because Oikawa was always within earshot. “I fucked up.”

“Yeah, you did.” Semi started stabbing at the ice cubes again. “I know Shirabu. He’ll come back.”

“I know.”

“You should leave,” said Semi. “You and Oikawa. You should skip town and settle down somewhere hard to find.”

“I tried,” said Iwaizumi, the words tired. “Oikawa refuses.”

“He’s an idiot.”

Iwaizumi couldn’t disagree.

When Oikawa returned, he noticed the sober atmosphere immediately. “The two of you are such a buzzkill,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Iwa-chan, call Makki and Mattsun. They’re fun.”

Iwaizumi didn’t bother with a response.

Oikawa sighed. “Fine. I need to check on the kitchen anyway. Try not to bore each other to death.”

He pranced away with a spring in his step, apparently at ease.

He was handling his impending death much better than Iwaizumi was.

“Can you find out where Shirabu is?” said Iwaizumi once Oikawa was gone. “Don’t you have connections or something? Some shady underground shit?”

Semi’s stare was flat. “In Osaka, sure. I don’t know anyone in Tokyo. I didn’t deal with anyone here. I tried to avoid the drug business completely but fucking Shirabu wouldn’t stop hounding me.”

“He said you gave him tips.”

“Yeah, so?” Semi shrugged. “I didn’t actually help him do anything. I only did that much because he said he was going to tell everyone I’d been in prison. Back then only Ushijima and Oikawa knew, and I didn’t want…” He hesitated. “I didn’t want everyone else to know.” 

Iwaizumi folded his arms on the table and rested his forehead on them. He was so damn tired, but it was almost impossible to sleep. Even though Oikawa was right beside him every night, he was still afraid he’d wake up to find his boyfriend’s throat cut wide open.

For the first time, Iwaizumi was glad he was suspended from work. That meant he could watch Oikawa every minute of every day.

Kuroo had offered to lift his suspension early, considering the circumstances, and had promised that an armed officer would be on duty at Oikawa’s restaurant or at his apartment at all times.

It was a nice enough offer, but Iwaizumi had turned it down without a second thought. He wasn’t going to let Oikawa out of his sight.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he said, the admission surprisingly vulnerable. 

“There’s nothing you can do,” said Semi. “It’s already done. You should’ve kept your fucking mouth shut.”

Iwaizumi wanted to argue. He wanted to explain his reasoning and make Semi understand why’d he’d gone to Kuroo, why he’d risked Oikawa.

But he didn’t bother.

Semi had probably been through the same arguments in his own head. He’d likely considered going to the police, but the threat to Tendou’s safety had stopped him. Semi’s decision had been even more complicated than Iwaizumi’s because in exchange for saving Tendou’s life, Semi was going to lose his own to a prison cell.

Despite all that, Semi had still kept his silence.

Iwaizumi wished he’d made the same decision.

“Convince him,” said Semi after a long pause. “You have to get him out of here. Go to Osaka. I know people who can give you new names. You can start over and Shirabu won’t be able to track you down. You have to talk him into it, Iwaizumi.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Try harder,” Semi snapped, suddenly angry. “This is your fault and you have to do something about it. Drag him there if you have to. Just do _something_.”

That, Iwaizumi supposed, was the difference between himself and Semi. 

Semi would do whatever was in his power to get what he wanted, and would do even more to protect someone he cared about.

Iwaizumi was the same. He would sacrifice anything for Oikawa, but the one thing he wasn’t willing to throw away was Oikawa’s freedom.

If Oikawa wanted to stay here, they would stay. Iwaizumi would protect him with his dying breath, and hope that somehow he would be the one to suffer for his own mistake.

“I’ll talk to him again,” said Iwaizumi, though he knew the conversation would be fruitless. “He won’t listen, though. He’s not as worried about this as he should be.”

Semi shook his head. “He’s a fucking idiot. I’d like to kill him myself.”

Iwaizumi let that go because he knew there wasn’t an ounce of truth in the statement.

“I have to go,” said Semi, stabbing one last ice cube before standing. “I’m meeting Tendou. Call me if you need anything.”

It was an offer he handed out quite frequently, one that Iwaizumi had never used.

“Sure,” he said anyway. “See you later.”

“Convince him,” said Semi again, glaring at Iwaizumi before stalking out of the restaurant.

Iwaizumi watched him go. The pit of guilt in his stomach hadn’t gone away for the past week, but right now it was deeper than ever.

When Oikawa returned to the table a few minutes later, Iwaizumi said, “Let’s go get dinner.”

Oikawa blinked at him, surprised. “Okay… the last reservation is in fifteen minutes. We can go after that.”

“Fine.”

Oikawa still studied him. Iwaizumi tried to avoid public situations as much as possible these days. He insisted that they walk directly to the restaurant and then home again, only stopping in between when it was strictly necessary. Going anywhere other than Sapphire Grove for dinner did not fit the week’s script.

“Are you okay, Iwa-chan?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

They both knew he was lying.

Semi was right. Iwaizumi couldn’t force Oikawa to go anywhere, but if he tried a little harder, maybe he could coax him into leaving. It would be the only safe thing to do, because if they stayed in Tokyo, they would eventually get flushed out.

Iwaizumi had to convince Oikawa, because he refused to live without him.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...you guys know I love you, right? Right??

Iwaizumi took Oikawa to a ramen restaurant on the corner, one that wasn’t particularly busy. The scarce crowd made it easier for Iwaizumi to take a mental inventory of the other customers and confirm that none of them were familiar.

He and Oikawa squeezed into the same side of the booth, Oikawa sitting a little closer than necessary, as was his custom. Iwaizumi didn’t even complain. He just leaned his shoulder against Oikawa’s and enjoyed his warmth. 

They were concealed from view in an isolated corner, and Iwaizumi felt himself relaxing a little. No one could even see them there, and if someone approached, he’d have a clear view before they got too close.

He took Oikawa’s hand and sighed, trying to shake some of the tension out of his shoulders. He’d been getting headaches lately, the kind that started as a dull twinge and developed into a recurrent pang reminiscent of an ice pick to the skull. He didn’t know if it was from the lack of sleep or the stress.

It was probably an amalgamation of both.

A waiter came a moment later to take their drink orders. Oikawa asked for the sweetest cocktail they had, complete with a sugared rim. He twirled his finger to illustrate. Iwaizumi requested soda, because he didn’t want any alcohol in his system to impair his reaction time. He felt Oikawa silently analyzing his drink choice, but ignored it.

“We need to talk,” said Iwaizumi, staring blankly at the other side of the booth.

Oikawa sighed and slumped further into him. “Don’t bother, Iwa-chan. I’m not leaving.”

Iwaizumi looked over, but only had a view of the top of his head. “I didn’t say anything about leaving.”

“You didn’t have to. I heard you talking with Semi-chan.”

Well, that wasn’t the best way to start the conversation.

Iwaizumi squeezed Oikawa’s hand and said, “Then you understand why we need to leave Tokyo. It’s not safe here, Tooru. The longer we wait the more likely it is that something’s going to happen to you.”

“It’s been a week and nothing’s happened,” said Oikawa. He raised his head off of Iwaizumi’s shoulder just enough to blink up at him. “I think Shirabu forgot about me. He has other things to worry about.”

“He didn’t forget. A week isn’t a long time, and I haven’t given him a chance to get close to you. If he’s watching us then he’s probably waiting for me to slip up and leave you alone for five minutes. I can’t be in the same room as you for the rest of our lives, even if I want to.”

“You don’t have to be. I’m not scared.”

“That’s fine,” said Iwaizumi. “I’m scared enough for both of us.”

The waiter returned with their drinks and placed them on the table with a smile. “Here you are. I’ll be back in a moment for your order.”

He stepped away and Oikawa reached eagerly for his rose pink cocktail. He took a drink and made a low noise of appreciation. “Delicious,” he said, licking sugar off of his upper lip. “Almost as good as the ones Shirabu used to make.”

Iwaizumi felt his eye twitch at the name. He glanced around, as if speaking it would summon him. 

Oikawa sipped happily at his drink and Iwaizumi reached for his soda, for lack of anything better to do. It was cold on his tongue but it tasted strange, maybe a little flat, like the carbonation was off. 

“Why are you making that face, Iwa-chan?”

“I’m not.” Iwaizumi took another drink. He wasn’t going to complain over something stupid like an odd taste in his soda, not when they had things so much more important to deal with.

After a moment Iwaizumi said, “I was thinking Osaka.”

Oikawa looked at him, startled, a smudge of sugar at the corner of his mouth. Iwaizumi wiped it away with his thumb.

“I don’t like Osaka,” said Oikawa quietly. “I don’t want to go there.”

“Semi said he knows people who can help us. We can hide there.”

Oikawa shook his head. “I don’t like those people, either. You don’t know what they’re like. If they find out you’re a cop they’ll kill you instead of helping you.”

“I won’t be a cop anymore. I’ll quit and do something else.”

“You’re not quitting, Iwa-chan. Your life is here, and so is mine. It’s not fair that we have to give that up.”

Iwaizumi’s grip tightened, and he didn’t realize he was squeezing Oikawa’s fingers too tightly until he made a sound of protest. He quickly let go, brushing a thumb over the back of Oikawa’s knuckles in apology. “Life isn’t fair. I don’t need it to be fair. I just need to be with you.”

“You’re with me.”

“For now.”

Oikawa took another drink and eyed Iwaizumi over the sugared rim. His cocktail was almost gone and the waiter still hadn’t returned. It shouldn’t have taken him so long. There wasn’t an abundance of customers.

“I’ll always be with you,” said Oikawa slowly. He put his glass down and smiled. “I promised you, right?”

“You can’t keep that promise if you’re dead.” The words should have been harsh, but they sounded too thick in Iwaizumi’s ears. He frowned and took another drink of his soda to try and rinse the strange taste out of his mouth. He almost dropped the glass when he put it back down and he looked at his fingers, confused. 

“I’m not gonna die,” said Oikawa. He propped an elbow on the table and rested the side of his face in his palm, lazy eyes looking up at Iwaizumi. His smile was a little lopsided. “I’m gonna annoy you for the rest of your life, Iwa-chan.” He laughed a little, but it sounded odd. “This drink is strong. I can feel it so much already.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes slowly traveled to the cocktail glass. There was only a quarter of the drink left, but even so, Oikawa shouldn’t be feeling the alcohol yet. Drinks like that were so watered down with sugary syrup that the alcohol content was laughably low. He looked at his own glass, half-empty, and reflected on the strange flat taste on his tongue.

His brain was churning more slowly than normal, so it took him a full fifteen seconds to piece it together. By the time he did, it was too late.

Someone slid into the opposite side of the booth, looking between them with sharp eyes.

Iwaizumi tried to reach for his gun. His fingers were clumsy, scrabbling at the front of his jacket. Before he could get his hand inside, Shirabu had propped his own gun on the table.

“I don’t want to make a scene in this restaurant,” said Shirabu, “so please don’t make me, Iwaizumi-san.”

Iwaizumi’s hand fell away as he looked at the gun. “Please.”

Shirabu raised an interested brow. “Please what?”

“Please don’t do this.” The words were like molasses on Iwaizumi’s tongue. “Please don’t hurt him.”

Shirabu looked to Oikawa, and Iwaizumi belatedly followed his stare.

Oikawa had slumped onto the table, head pillowed on his arm, eyes closed. Iwaizumi reached out and dropped a hand on his shoulder, but Oikawa didn’t move.

“I’m not going to do anything,” said Shirabu. “It’s already been done.”

Oikawa was breathing; Iwaizumi could tell even through the haze dragging at the edges of his thoughts. But the breaths were slow, and Iwaizumi feared they would slow even more.

“What did you do?”

“I told you before that I like Oikawa,” said Shirabu. His tone was conversational, as if there wasn’t a gun resting on the table between them. “This is an act of mercy. He’ll just drift away. He won’t feel a thing.”

Iwaizumi shook Oikawa. His head lolled, but he didn’t stir. “What did you _do_?”

“I made him a moxie cocktail,” said Shirabu. “With a dash of valium. I think Captain Kuroo already determined what happens when you mix the two.”

Iwaizumi’s brain devolved into white noise. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe, and it wasn’t because of whatever was in his drink. 

“Tooru,” he said, the name slurring on his lips. “Tooru, wake up.”

“I really hate to see this,” said Shirabu, though he looked completely neutral. “I would have rather killed you, Iwaizumi-san. I would have done it slowly and painfully and made sure you felt every moment of it, but that isn’t how it works. We made a deal, and unlike you, I keep my word.”

Iwaizumi lunged across the table, reaching for the gun. 

His movements were too slow, too sloppy. He knocked over the rest of his soda, the cascade pouring over the edge of the table. 

Shirabu easily slapped his hand away from the pistol, unbothered, and Iwaizumi slouched back in his seat.

“Like I told you,” said Shirabu, “you’ll be perfectly fine. You’ll pass out for a few hours at most, but when you wake up you’ll be good as new. I’ll be out of the city by then, now that I’ve tied up my loose ends.”

“Please don’t do this to him,” said Iwaizumi, the words blurring together. “Please don’t.”

“I didn’t do this,” said Shirabu. “You did, Iwaizumi-san. All you had to do was keep your mouth shut.”

Iwaizumi’s vision went black, and he was startled until he realized his eyes had closed. He forced them open again and noticed his view was a little closer to the table, his body slumping down in the booth. “Please.”

“I’ve bribed the waiter to leave the two of you alone for the next hour,” said Shirabu, ignoring the plea. “That will be plenty of time.”

“I’ll do anything. Please.”

Shirabu’s face hardened into stone. “Then go back in time and reestablish my business. I had a perfect set-up. Now I’m going to have to start all over. Do you think I did all of this for _fun_ , Iwaizumi?” He leaned across the table, his glare narrowing into laser sharpness. “Do you think I woke up one day and thought to myself, ah, I think I’ll become a drug dealer today. Perhaps I’ll kill a few people in the process.” His grip tightened on the gun, knuckles whitening. “I did what I had to do and I’ll face my own consequences, just as you’re facing yours.” 

Shirabu tucked his gun beneath his jacket as Iwaizumi slouched even further, his muscles refusing to support him. “Well, I’ll be on my way. Give Semi my regards. I won’t be coming back to Tokyo, so I won’t get to tell him goodbye myself. If he ever decides to visit Osaka again then perhaps I’ll see him there.”

“Please.” Iwaizumi’s tongue was too large for his mouth. “Please don’t.”

Shirabu slid out of the booth and patted Iwaizumi on the shoulder. “Look on the bright side. There was one survivor, right? Maybe Oikawa will make it.” He checked his watch. “Although it’s already been seven minutes since it entered his system, and that’s about the same amount of time that passed before the ambulance arrived to scrape that woman off of the club’s floor. I’m pretty sure if he doesn’t get medical attention immediately he’s a goner.” His expression was steel. “Good luck, Iwaizumi-san. It’s been a pleasure.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes wouldn’t function well enough to track him, but he knew Shirabu was gone.

He reached out to Oikawa again, his own hand fuzzy in front of him, and pawed at Oikawa’s arm. “Tooru.” 

Oikawa slumped to the side, only kept upright by the wall of the booth.

Iwaizumi tried to get up, to get someone’s attention, but his legs weren’t working. Instead he struggled for his phone, but his numb fingers couldn’t get it out of his pocket.

It took ten seconds too long for him to realize Oikawa’s cell was on the table.

He reached for it, missed, and then managed to drag it closer until it almost touched the corner of his mouth.

Iwaizumi realized his head had dropped onto the table, his left cheek pressed into the soda he’d spilled.

He couldn’t sit up.

His fingers were barely working, too. He tapped at the screen of Oikawa’s phone, trying to access his contacts, but he didn’t have the necessary dexterity.

He held his thumb down on the home button until the screen flashed, though from that angle he couldn’t see the display. There was a brief pause, and then a voice from the phone’s speaker said, “ _Sorry, I didn’t get that_.”

Iwaizumi tried to speak. The words were a muddled mess.

“ _Sorry, I didn’t get that_.”

Iwaizumi closed his eyes and tried to focus. “Call Semi.”

“ _Sorry, I didn’t get that_.”

His tongue was a swollen sponge, sticking to his teeth and preventing him from speaking properly. He swallowed, and even his throat felt too thick. “Call Semi.”

“ _I don’t see Semi in your contacts_.”

Iwaizumi opened his eyes. Everything was darker, as if night had fallen inside the restaurant. Oikawa was just a pale blur at the edge of his vision, unmoving.

“Call Semi-chan.”

The pause that followed was the longest two seconds of Iwaizumi’s life.

“ _Calling Semi-chan_.”

The phone purred as it rang, though the sound was distant, like it was coming from the other side of the restaurant.

Three rings passed before a voice spoke, stirring familiarity in the fuzzy corners of Iwaizumi’s brain. “What?”

Iwaizumi opened his mouth. A muddy croak escaped, and his hand slipped off the table, hanging uselessly at his side.

“Oikawa, if this is some kind of joke it’s not funny.”

“Semi.” Iwaizumi’s mouth made the name one syllable instead of two. 

There was a pause, palpable hesitation. “Iwaizumi?”

“Semi,” he repeated, the word blurring even worse. “’s Shirabu.”

“Shirabu?” he repeated, managing to interpret the mumble. “What about Shirabu? Where are you? What’s wrong?”

“Drugged,” said Iwaizumi, though his voice sounded nothing like the word. “Tooru’s…”

He couldn’t say anything else. His thoughts were scrambled like the eggs that Oikawa always burned.

“Where are you?” repeated Semi, his voice as sharp as Shirabu’s eyes. “Iwaziumi, _where are you_?”

“Ramen,” said Iwaizumi. He realized his eyes had closed again. He opened them, and everything stayed black. He couldn’t feel anything now, not even the soda seeping into his hair. “Corner.” He tried to say more, but the sound died before it formed. He tried again and couldn’t push anything else out. It stuck in his throat and to the roof of his mouth, gluing his voice down. 

“What corner?” said Semi. There was a voice in the background. It was probably Tendou, but at that moment Iwaizumi couldn’t remember who Tendou was. “Where, Iwaizumi?”

Iwaizumi tried speak. 

His voice didn’t work.

“Iwaizumi? _Iwaizumi_! Shit. I’m coming, okay? I’ll find you, just wait.”

Iwaizumi didn’t have a choice.

Semi said something else that might have been a question or a reassurance or a curse. Iwaizumi didn’t know, because he couldn’t hear anymore, either. His senses faded into a gray fog that gradually thickened and darkened, until everything went black.

  
  
  
  
  
When Iwaizumi peeled his eyes open the only thing he saw was a bland white ceiling.

Somewhere to his left there was a steady beep, and it took a few minutes of muddled thoughts before he realized where he was.

He shifted, tried to sit up, and gave up halfway through the pursuit when a heavy hand landed in the middle of his chest and pushed him back down.

“Just lay there for a minute,” said a voice from overhead. “Get your bearings first.”

It was evidence to the still-muddled state of his brain that it took Iwaizumi any amount of time to recognize that voice.

“Makki,” he finally said, the single word breaking.

Hanamaki sighed down at him. “You look like shit, sarge. Just take a minute.”

Iwaizumi let his head fall back and the pressure on his chest relented.

He turned his head to watch Hanamaki sink back into the chair at his bedside, dropping into it like a sack of flour. 

“What time is it?”

The words were scratchy, cracked. Hanamaki reached for a cup of water and passed it to him. Iwaizumi sucked clumsily at the straw, spilling about as much as he managed to drink. 

“It’s a little after midnight,” said Hanamaki. He took the cup out of Iwaizumi’s hands. “You’ve been here for about three hours.”

“Why are you here?” said Iwaizumi. His voice was a little better.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Hanamaki. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience you with my presence.”

“I mean who called you?”

“I know what you mean,” said Makki. “It was Kuroo. He thought you probably wouldn’t want to wake up to his ugly mug. Mattsun’s on shift or he’d be here, too. He stopped by a while ago but he got a call and had to leave.”

“Did they catch him?” said Iwaizumi. “Shirabu?”

Hanamaki’s sigh was answer enough. “Kuroo basically called in the entire police department to set up blocks at all the roads leading out of the city. He sent the info to the airport too, just in case, but we haven’t heard anything yet. Shirabu is probably going to get away.”

Iwaizumi nodded. The room spun a little. “Probably.”

The silence lingered. Iwaizumi knew what he had to ask, but he was afraid. Because if it was good news then Hanamaki would have already told him.

“Makki?”

“Hmm?”

They shared a look, and Hanamaki was suddenly fascinated with the floor tiles. 

“He’s downstairs in the ICU.” Hanamaki picked at his cuticles absently, still not looking at Iwaizumi. “They can’t get him to wake up.”

“But he’s alive?” 

Hanamaki shrugged. “He’s on a ventilator right now. He can’t breathe on his own. His body’s not responding to anything. We don’t know what he got drugged with, but-”

“Moxie and valium,” said Iwaizumi. His memory of the ramen restaurant was fuzzy, but he remembered that part clearly. “Just like the other victims.”

Hanamaki reached for his phone and tapped out a text. “I’ll tell Semi,” he said. “He’s in the waiting room down there. We suspected that’s what it was, but it’s good to know for sure.” He looked up. “If that’s what it was, then why aren’t you…?”

Iwaizumi didn’t know how Hanamaki even had Semi’s cell number, but figured they probably exchanged information sometime during his unconsciousness. “He gave me something different. He didn’t want to kill me.”

He remembered Shirabu’s cutting stare, the shadowed gun barrel, the sensation of his body going numb.

“I need to see Oikawa,” said Iwaizumi. He pushed the sheets away from himself but only managed to get one leg over the edge of the bed before Makki shoved him back. 

“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “You’re a patient, too. Besides, they’re not letting anyone in there right now. Semi’s been stuck in the waiting room for hours.”

“I have to see him, Makki. This is my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. Chill the fuck out.”

He settled back into the bed, only because he was too weak to fend off Hanamaki. “Have they said anything?” said Iwaizumi. “About his chances?”

Hanamaki backed up a step, still wary of his potential escape. “The doctors haven’t talked to anyone, so I don’t know. But… you know it’s not good, Iwaizumi. You saw what happened to the others.”

“Victim number three made it.”

“You started performing CPR less than a minute after she lost consciousness,” said Hanamaki. “It took Semi almost ten minutes to find you, and five more for the ambulance to get there. It’s not good.”

“He’ll be fine. He has to be.”

“Iwaizumi…”

He looked up at Hanamaki, and heard the desperation in his own voice when he said, “He’ll make it.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I cry approximately three times while writing this? Maybe.
> 
> Are you going to cry too? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> (Early update because I won't have time in the morning.)

Iwaizumi was discharged from the hospital at six a.m.

Hanamaki tried to convince him to go home and get some rest, but they both knew he was wasting his breath.

Iwaizumi took the elevator down to the first floor, followed the signs to the ICU, and sat beside Semi and Tendou in the waiting room. Tendou had dozed off, his head propped against the wall at an angle that looked painful, his fingers loosely interlaced with Semi’s. Semi was staring at the far wall. He didn’t bother looking up at Iwaizumi or Hanamaki as they entered.

A few minutes passed before Iwaizumi spoke. “Have you heard anything?”

“If I had I would’ve told you already,” said Semi, his voice dripping with bitterness.

More time passed. 

Semi finally looked at him from the corner of his eye. “I guess you’re fine then?”

“Yeah.”

Semi made a huffing noise and fell back into silence.

About an hour later Tendou started mumbling nonsense. Iwaizumi stared at him, but Semi didn’t react. Apparently sleeptalking was a common occurrence.

Three hours after that, a doctor informed them that they were moving Oikawa to a room on the seventh floor. For a moment Iwaizumi allowed himself to think it was a good thing. 

Then Semi told him, none too gently, that they were just moving him to get him out of the way. They couldn’t do anything for him, so they were going to allot their resources to someone they might be able to help. 

He talked like he’d already given up on Oikawa, but when the four of them migrated to the seventh floor, Semi still seemed impatient to see him.

Iwaizumi entered the room with a sense of dread that soaked him to the bone. For a moment he thought they’d gotten the wrong room, but when he stepped around Tendou and moved closer, he realized it actually was Oikawa lying there. 

He was too pale. That was the first thing Iwaizumi noticed. He was too pale, and his lips were still a little blue where they were stretched around the mouthpiece of the ventilator. There were IVs and tubes and more medical equipment than Iwaizumi thought should be attached to a single person.

He looked for a moment, then turned away so quickly that he would have fallen if Hanamaki hadn’t grabbed his shoulder for support.

“Shit,” said Semi.

The single word summed up the situation pretty well.

There were only two chairs in the room. Iwaizumi opted for sitting in the floor instead, his back against the wall. 

About an hour later Hanamaki left for his shift, but he promised that Matsukawa would come by soon. Tendou was asleep again and Semi sat in one of the chairs with his legs crossed. He was holding his phone but his eyes hadn’t moved in ten minutes so Iwaizumi though he probably wasn’t using it.

“Thanks,” said Iwaizumi, his voice still a little scratchy.

Semi glanced at him. “For what?”

“For finding us.”

Semi scowled down at his phone screen. “Yeah, whatever.”

Iwaizumi knew Semi was mad at him. To be honest, he was mad at himself.

He’d done this. Oikawa was lying there because of him.

Oikawa might never wake up because of him.

Iwaizumi pulled his legs against his chest and wiped his eyes on his knees, so Semi wouldn’t see.

Mattsun arrived an hour later, still in his police uniform. Iwaizumi appreciated his concern, and Makki’s too, but there was nothing they could do. 

There was nothing anyone could do.

  
  
  
  
  
The following day they removed the ventilator. Oikawa could breathe, but it was weak. They had to give him oxygen, but that was better than the ventilator.

Iwaizumi allowed himself to think, briefly, that he was making progress. Maybe Oikawa would snap out of the coma and things would go back to normal. 

  
  
  
  
  
A week passed, and there was no change.

Iwaizumi noticed Oikawa was getting thinner. His fingers felt brittle and they were always cold. His eyes looked sunken, dark shadows ringing them that were reminiscent of Iwaizumi’s own. All of the IVs and tubes and wires were still in place. Nurses came by periodically to record Oikawa’s vitals, and occasionally a doctor would tell Iwaizumi that there was nothing they could do but wait.

Iwaizumi would gladly spend the rest of his life waiting for Oikawa.

He did have to go home, eventually. After the first week, he started spending the nights in his own bed and traveling to the hospital during the day. He tried to hope for the best when he arrived, but he was always greeted by the pale husk of Oikawa, devoid of his brightness and beauty and charisma. 

Semi was there sometimes, though he tended to leave when Iwaizumi came in. His anger was muted, but his grudge against Iwaizumi was still largely apparent.

He didn’t look like he was sleeping very much, either.

  
  
  
  
  
On the ninth day of Oikawa’s hospitalization, someone other than Makki or Mattsun or Semi came by. Unfortunately, it was one of the last people that Iwaizumi cared to see. “Hey, Iwaizumi.” Kuroo at least had the decency to look sheepish as he stood in the doorway. “Mind if I come in?”

Part of Iwaizumi wanted to tell Kuroo to get the fuck away from him. Another part of him, a larger part, was too tired to get angry. “Sure.”

Kuroo approached slowly, eyes darting to Oikawa briefly, a soft wince touching his face before he quickly looked away. He sat in the other chair across from Iwaizumi, hunched over slightly, staring down at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” said Kuroo. He clenched his hands and raised his head, face pained. “If I had just-”

“Don’t bother,” said Iwaizumi, cutting him short. It wasn’t said with ire or malice. He just sounded tired, lifeless. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It matters to me,” said Kuroo. “I feel like shit for what happened, and I feel like shit that it took me this long to apologize. I did wrong by you, Iwaizumi. I really fucked up.”

Two weeks ago, Iwaizumi would have felt something from the admission; satisfaction, or reproach, or maybe just plain anger.

Now he didn’t feel anything.

“You did your job,” said Iwaizumi, his voice hollow. “You did what you thought was right.”

“But if I’d just listened to you-”

“Then you would’ve been ignoring the evidence,” said Iwaizumi. He felt strange, taking Kuroo's side in an argument that he’d been so bitterly adamant about. He should have been enraged. 

“I’m sorry about what happened to Oikawa,” said Kuroo. He looked at the frail body in the bed again, expression tightening. “I’m sorry about everything.”

“Oikawa will be fine,” said Iwaizumi. “He’ll wake up and he’ll be fine.”

Kuroo’s face softened into something resembling pity.

Iwaizumi hated it.

“Can I do anything?” said Kuroo. “Anything at all.”

“I need some more time off.”

“Take as long as you want,” said Kuroo. “Your job will be waiting when you’re ready.”

Iwaizumi nodded. He looked at Oikawa, and reached over to stroke his hair away from his forehead. It fell right back, just as it did every time.

“Actually,” said Kuroo, “I’ve been thinking about something. It’s not the best time, and I know that, but it’ll give you something to think about, anyway.”

With clear reluctance, Iwaizumi tore his gaze away from Oikawa and looked back at Kuroo.

“When you come back to work,” said Kuroo, bouncing his leg in a quick rhythm, “I’d like to have you in investigations. If you want to make the transfer, that is. You’re the one who solved this case, and you’d have done it a lot faster if I’d listened to you. I have a place for you, if you’ll take it.”

At any other time, Iwaizumi would have been honored to receive the offer. Only the best were recruited to investigations – perhaps with the exception of Lev. 

Despite that, he didn’t even take time to consider before shaking his head. “I can’t, Kuroo. At least, not right now. I have to be here for Oikawa when he wakes up, to get him back on his feet. I can’t take a new job on top of that. When he’s recovered, maybe I’ll think about it.”

Kuroo didn’t seem surprised. “Okay, sure. Just let me know if you change your mind. The offer still stands.”

Kuroo rose. Iwaizumi expected him to leave, but instead Kuroo hovered, clearly uncomfortable.

Iwaizumi knew Kuroo well enough to know he was about to deliver bad news. Luckily, there wasn’t much bad news that could faze him anymore. “What, Kuroo?”

Kuroo ran a hand through his mess of hair and said, “An officer in Osaka thinks he saw Shirabu there a couple of days ago.”

Iwaizumi waited; the mention of Shirabu’s name made him feel ill, but he didn’t know what was particularly bad about the news.

“They’re keeping an eye out for him,” said Kuroo, “but that’s so far out of our jurisdiction that we can’t do anything about it. Literally nothing. He’s out of our reach, and the only way we’ll get him is if the Osaka police catch up to him. To be honest, I’m not too optimistic that they will. When they caught Semi a few years back, it was the biggest bust they’d had in a decade. It was a big deal, because the Osaka police don’t have a great track record. That’s probably why Shirabu decided to go there. That, and because I assume he’s picked up a lot of information about Osaka’s underground from Semi.”

“I know.”

“The odds that he’s actually going to get caught there are pretty low.”

“I know.”

“I mean, the odds that he’ll come back to Tokyo are pretty low too, since he knows we’ve got it out for him, but-”

“What’s your point, Kuroo?”

Kuroo frowned at him. “My point is, we didn’t catch Shirabu. And if the Osaka police manage to find him, it’ll be a miracle. I’m saying he got away, and I’m trying to figure out why you don’t seem to care.”

Iwaizumi stared up at him, blank. “There’s only one thing I care about right now, and he’s lying right here. As long as Oikawa wakes up, I don’t give a fuck what happens to Shirabu. I’m more angry at myself than I’ll ever be at him.”

“Iwaizumi, this wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, it was. It was Shirabu’s fault too, but it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t fucked up. Shirabu warned me. If I’d listened, Oikawa would be fine.” He reached for Oikawa’s hand, placing his shaking fingers over cold, lifeless ones. “You can go. Thanks for stopping by.”

Kuroo stepped toward the door, but hesitated. 

“Can I come back?” said Kuroo, the words halting. “In a couple of days, maybe. To see how he’s doing.”

Iwaizumi felt a swell of gratitude, so sudden and surprising that it nearly stole his breath. It was the first thing he’d felt in days, other than overwhelming hopelessness.

He stared at Oikawa’s hand and said, “Yeah, sure. You can come back.”

Kuroo left, and pretended not to see Iwaizumi’s tears. 

  
  
  
  
  
Another week passed.

On day fifteen, Makki and Mattsun forced Iwaizumi to go somewhere other than his apartment and the hospital. He agreed to get dinner with them, but only if they went to Sapphire Grove. He needed to check and see how the restaurant was doing, so he could tell Oikawa about it when he woke up.

The two of them had shared a look, but gave in to Iwaizumi’s request.

All of the staff came up to their table to ask Iwaizumi about their boss. He answered with surprising composure, promising that he would keep them updated.

It was only when he was on his way out and Suga hugged him, mumbling a “take care of yourself, Iwaizumi” in his ear, that his composure broke.

  
  
  
  
  
When Oikawa had been unresponsive for three weeks, Iwaizumi made the decision to go back to work. He hadn’t wanted to, at first. It felt like abandoning Oikawa, like he was returning to his life as if nothing was wrong.

Kuroo had talked him into it. He’d started coming by the hospital every few days, ostensibly to check up on Oikawa, but really he was checking on Iwaizumi. Kuroo said it wasn’t healthy for him to dwell on Oikawa twenty-four-seven. Iwaizumi knew that, of course. At that point he just didn’t care what was healthy and what wasn’t.

Despite his reluctance, Kuroo managed to coax him into it, and the following day he worked his first shift in over a month.

He was distracted for much of it, his mind still in the hospital room with Oikawa, but by his third day back he started to fall back into the groove of police work. Of all the calls he responded to, none of them involved a mystery drug called moxie. There were no fatal overdoses that couldn’t be explained. 

Iwaizumi stopped by the hospital before and after each shift, and still there was no change. Oikawa looked the same every day, his face gaunt, skin so pale that it was nearly translucent. The equipment swarming his bed was the only thing keeping him alive.

Oikawa wouldn’t have wanted to live like that, but Iwaizumi refused to let him go.

He got in touch with Oikawa’s landlord and made the rent payment for the month. 

Oikawa wasn’t going to wake up homeless.

And he _was_ going to wake up.

  
  
  
  
  
Exactly twenty-five days after Oikawa had been drugged, Iwaizumi ran into Semi in the hospital lobby. 

It wasn’t a strange occurrence. They saw each other there quite often. 

This time, though, the ever-present resentment burned more hotly in Semi’s eyes. His lip was curled into a sneer that reminded Iwaizumi of Semi’s Osaka days.

Semi launched his fist without warning, and Iwaizumi didn’t try to dodge.

The right hook caught him on the left cheekbone and the skin split.

A trickle of blood dripped down his jaw and Semi turned on his heel, stalking away with his fist clenched at his side.

The following day they saw each other again, in Oikawa’s room. Neither of them mentioned the bruise that had bloomed beneath Iwaizumi’s left eye. Semi seemed less bitter.

It felt like forgiveness, almost, but Iwaizumi didn’t want it. 

  
  
  
  
  
Thirty days, and Iwaizumi was at the gym near the police station with Hanamaki and Kageyama. The two of them were racing on side-by-side treadmills, Makki huffing as he tried to keep up with Kageyama’s furious pace. Iwaizumi had already finished his workout and was sitting against the wall with a towel around his shoulders, tipping back his water bottle.

A shadow fell over him and Iwaizumi looked up to find Ushijima, dressed in sweatpants and a tight-fitting t-shirt. Iwaizumi had never seen him at this gym, but it was obvious from looking at him that he engaged in a regular fitness routine.

“Iwaizumi,” said Ushijima. “It is good to see you.”

Iwaizumi took one last drink before standing, his legs a little weak from overexertion. “Hey, Ushijima.”

“Have there been any changes with Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi had expected that question. He’d been asked the same thing in several different versions so many times that it shouldn’t hurt anymore.

It stung anyway.

“He’s the same,” said Iwaizumi, in the tone that he’d learned to use to disguise the pain. “Still just waiting.”

Ushijima nodded. His heavy brows pulled into a scowl. “I am sorry,” he said, “about Shirabu. I did not know what he was doing. I would have put a stop to it.”

Iwaizumi was so taken aback by the apology that he didn’t immediately respond. “It’s fine,” he finally said. “There was no way for you to know.”

“He was my employee. It was my job to know. I feel responsible for all that has happened.”

Iwaizumi shook his head. “It’s not your fault. Even if you’d found out, Shirabu would have found a different place and done the same thing. It would have happened no matter what. Don’t blame yourself for it.”

Ushijima’s gaze was steady. “You shouldn’t blame yourself either, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi wanted to argue, because it wasn’t the same thing. Of course this was his fault. 

Ushijima thumped a hand on his shoulder, the strength making Iwaizumi stagger forward. “I am here,” said Ushijima, “if you need anything. Please don’t hesitate.”

He walked away, and Iwaizumi looked toward the treadmills. Hanamaki was staring at him, eyebrows raised, surprised by Ushijima’s offer. Hanamaki’s attention was so focused on Iwaizumi that his stride went too long, knocked against the front of the treadmill, and sent him sprawling. 

He hit the floor with a groan, cursing Kageyama when he smirked down at him.

Iwaizumi laughed for the first time in over a month. 

  
  
  
  
  
Thirty-eight days, and Iwaizumi stood a safe distance away while Kageyama tried to talk an elderly woman into letting him drive her home.

“Ma’am, please,” said Kageyama, offering her the shoes that she’d discarded in the garbage bin. “Put your shoes on and let me give you a ride. I want to help.”

“You have those devil eyes,” the woman hissed. She was smirking a little, as if aware of how uncomfortable she was making him. “I don’t trust men with those devil eyes.” She swiveled her head to look at Iwaizumi. “That one has good eyes. Kind eyes.”

Kageyama looked to Iwaizumi, desperate. 

Iwaizumi shrugged and made no move to interfere.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he reached for it, still keeping an eye on the situation. Kageyama was a good officer. He was perfect support in high-risk situations. It was only at times like this, when superior social skills were required, that he needed practice. Iwaizumi had dealt with this particular woman on more than one occasion. Her dementia was a little worse every time he saw her.

Iwaizumi glanced down at his phone, and forgot all about Kageyama as his stomach dropped. He had to make himself take a breath as he pressed the phone to his ear with a strangled, “Hello?”

“Iwaizumi.” Semi’s voice was raw. “Are you working?”

“Yes. Why? What’s wrong?”

There was a pause that lasted an eternity. Then Semi said, “Can you leave?”

Iwaizumi closed his eyes. His heart twisted in his chest. 

The call was inevitable. He knew it, but he hadn’t wanted to admit it.

Oikawa couldn’t stay in limbo forever. Sometimes people stayed in comas for years, and if that had been the case, Iwaizumi would have visited him every day for as long as it lasted.

But it was more likely that it would come to an abrupt end. 

Iwaizumi’s throat tightened and he turned his back on Kageyama. “Yeah,” he said. His voice sounded almost normal, much better than Semi’s. “I can leave.”

Semi sniffed, but the sound was distant, as if he’d held the phone away so Iwaizumi wouldn’t hear. “Then get here fast,” he said. “Oikawa wants to see you.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in.

“What?”

Semi sniffed again. “ _Where’s Iwa-chan_?” he mocked, though there was no bitterness in his voice. “It was the first thing the idiot said. He looks like fucking death and he’s worried about _you_. Get over here.”

The phone shook in Iwaizumi’s grip. His breath was coming too fast, too shallow. He looked at the nearest street sign because he couldn’t remember where he was.

“Six minutes,” he said, his voice tight. “Give me six minutes.”

He called something to Kageyama, though he didn’t know what it was. He jumped into his cruiser and sped down the street, weaving through traffic in an unsafe manner, his heart pounding against his chest in a rapid staccato rhythm.

He left his cruiser against the curb at the front door, on top of the red painted lines that forbade anyone from parking their vehicles there. 

People stared as he rushed inside. It could have been because of his uniform or because of his visible desperation. 

He waited in front of the elevators for eight seconds before he grew too impatient and dashed toward the stairwell.

He flew up seven stories, legs burning and lungs heaving as he pushed through the doors and sprinted down the hallway.

He came to a clumsy stop in front of Oikawa’s room, the one in which he’d spent so many hours talking to Oikawa and playing him the shitty pop music that he loved and begging him to wake up. 

Semi was leaning against the wall in the hallway. When he looked up his eyes were rimmed with red. “The doctor is talking to him,” said Semi hoarsely. 

Iwaizumi didn’t care. He needed to go in anyway. He _needed_ to see Oikawa.

Semi saw the desperation on his face. “Just give it a minute.”

Iwaizumi made himself stand still and waited until the doctor emerged. She was tall, blonde, and seemed to be familiar with Semi. She paused to talk to him, but Iwaizumi didn’t stay to listen. He sidestepped them and pushed into the room that had become a second home to him over the past thirty-eight days.

As he stepped across the threshold, Iwaizumi’s heart fluttered so wildly in a blend of dread and expectation that he thought he might go into cardiac arrest.

He entered the room much more calmly than he felt, drawing closer on numb legs. His hands trembled at his sides, breath burning in his lungs.

Oikawa was propped up on a mountain of pillows, gaunt and frail. Some of the tubes had been removed, but most of them remained in place. His eyes were open, and it was the first time Iwaizumi had seen them in over a month. 

They were dull, and weary, and a little distant, but when they found Iwaizumi, Oikawa smiled.

“Iwa-chan,” he said. His voice was a weak rasp, barely audible. “There you are.”

Iwaizumi fell to his knees, buried his face in Oikawa’s sheets, and sobbed.

“Iwa-chan.” The gravelly whisper could barely be heard over Iwaizumi’s sobs. A limp hand dropped onto his head, weak fingers curling in his hair. “Don’t cry.”

Iwaizumi could barely breathe and his eyes were burning and he’d never been happier in his life. 

He took Oikawa’s hand, treating his bony fingers delicately, and pressed it against the side of his face, as if to confirm it was real.

“I missed you,” he said, his voice forced between broken sobs. “I missed you so much.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Shut up. I don’t want you to apologize for anything else as long as you live.”

Iwaizumi kept his eyes shut, soaking in the sensation of Oikawa’s hand against his face, the occasional twitch of a finger reminding him that this was real.

Oikawa was awake. 

Oikawa was _alive_.

“Iwa-chan? Am I in the hospital?”

Iwaizumi blinked away his tears and looked up. Oikawa was frowning at his own arm, at the IVs tucked into the bend of his elbow. He reached for them with shaky fingers and Iwaizumi gently caught his hand. 

“Yeah,” said Iwaizumi. His voice was rough and raspy. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, you’re in the hospital. Didn’t the doctor just talk to you?”

Oikawa stared blankly back at him. 

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi reached up to lightly touch Oikawa’s cheek. “Are you alright? Tooru?”

“Someone talked to me,” said Oikawa. He closed his eyes and leaned into Iwaizumi’s hand. “I don’t know. Why am I in the hospital?”

“You got drugged,” said Iwaizumi. Some of his overwhelming relief was bleeding away, a measure of dread creeping in to replace it. “By Shirabu.”

“Shirabu?” repeated Oikawa. “Why would Shirabu drug me?”

Iwaizumi went cold. He stood abruptly and started for the door. He had to find that doctor. Something was wrong with Oikawa. She needed to come back, she needed to fix him, she needed to-

“Will you calm the fuck down?” snapped Semi. He seized Iwaizumi’s arm and yanked him back. Iwaizumi hadn’t even noticed that Semi had entered the room. “He’s been in a coma for over a month. He’s going to be disoriented for a while. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“But if something’s wrong with him-”

“They’ll find it when they do the scans,” said Semi. “I know you’re not stupid, so stop acting like it. If you’d taken five fucking minutes to talk to the doctor you’d know this already. Everything will come back to him in a day or two. Just give it time.”

Semi sounded angry and annoyed, but there was no reflection of it on his face. His eyes were still red, and though he hid it well, Iwaizumi would guess Semi was almost as relieved as he was.

“Iwa-chan?” 

Iwaizumi turned immediately. Oikawa’s hand was extended toward him, fingers trembling weakly. 

“Don’t leave.”

Iwaizumi paced to Oikawa’s bedside and dropped back to his knees, resting his elbows on the edge of the mattress. He took Oikawa’s hand, and Oikawa smiled a little.

“I’m not leaving,” said Iwaizumi. “I’ll be here until they let you go home, and then I’ll go with you. I won’t leave you.”

Oikawa’s smile persisted. “You look cute in your police uniform, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi snorted and pressed a kiss to the back of Oikawa’s pale knuckles. “I love you, Tooru.”

Oikawa kept smiling. 

“I’m going to call Tendou,” said Semi. He wiped his eyes in a way that was meant to be discreet. “You’re the only person I’ve talked to. He’s only been awake for half an hour.” He looked at the pair of them and then dropped his eyes to his phone. “He’ll be fine, Iwaizumi. They’ll run the scans tomorrow to check for permanent damage, but he’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, Semi,” said Iwaizumi. “For everything. Really.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled. “I’ll be back.”

He left the room and Iwaizumi pressed his forehead against Oikawa’s sheets. His relief and tension and worry were all so overpowering that he didn’t even know what he was feeling anymore. It was a solid, painful ball of emotion in his chest, tightening and expanding and making him want to cry again.

“Can we go home, Iwa-chan?”

“Soon.”

“I want to go now.”

“I know. So do I.” Iwaizumi climbed out of the floor. His knees ached from the hard tile, but he hardly noticed. He leaned over Oikawa’s bed and pressed a kiss against his forehead. “I’ll take you home as soon as I can, alright? As soon as they’ll let me.”

“Do you promise?”

Iwaizumi ran a hand through Oikawa’s hair. It was too long. When Oikawa completely regained his self-awareness he would be horrified.

Iwaizumi smiled a little at the thought. “Yeah,” he said, “I promise.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, this is it. It took us a few months, but we’ve reached the end. You’ve all been so supportive through this entire fic, and I’ll be eternally grateful to every single one of you. I put a lot into this, and I’m just glad that you guys could get some enjoyment out of it. 
> 
> You guys are fantastic.
> 
> Thank you forever.

Semi was right. All of the tests and scans and diagnoses said the same thing: Oikawa was going to be fine.

It took a few days for him to return to normal. There were a lot of memories that had to be pieced back together. 

When his mind finally patched itself back up, Oikawa was unbearable. 

“They said it could be a few more _days_ ,” he whined, throwing an arm across his face. Most of the IVs had been removed. Only one remained, taped to the back of his still-pale hand. “I told the doctor I’m fine but she thinks I’m lying. I don’t like her. I want a new doctor.” 

Iwaizumi’s stare was flat. He was reclining in a chair beside Oikawa’s bed, a laptop perched on his knees. “You can’t even walk to the bathroom by yourself, Shittykawa. If they release you right now you’ll just go out and hurt yourself.” 

“Not true, Iwa-chan,” he said. His arm flopped to the side and he turned his head in a pout. “I went to the bathroom earlier when you went downstairs to get food. _By myself_. And I was fine.” 

Iwaizumi would have been mad, had he actually believed that. As it were, he just sighed and looked back to his laptop. He’d taken even more time off of work, which meant he wasn’t going to be able to have another vacation for about ten years, but it was worth it. He was trying to at least complete some simpler tasks remotely. He’d approved all of his shift’s reports for the past week and was currently trying to condense all of them into a spreadsheet for Captain Mizoguchi. 

He’d been doing well while Oikawa had napped, but since he’d been woken up thirty minutes ago by the doctor, it had become much more difficult to focus. 

“It’s just a few days,” said Iwaizumi. “You’ll survive.” 

“It’s too long. I’ll die.” 

“I waited for you for thirty-eight days,” said Iwaizumi. He tapped at the keyboard, though he wasn’t even paying attention to what he typed. “A few days in the hospital is nothing.” 

Oikawa didn’t respond. He was quiet for too long, and when Iwaizumi turned his head, he found Oikawa already looking at him. 

“I’m sorry,” said Oikawa quietly, all traces of his childish whining gone. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” 

“Don’t apologize to me. You didn’t do anything.” 

“I should’ve listened to you.” Oikawa looked down at his hands. His fingers were curled together in his lap. They were still too thin, too frail. “I knew I might get hurt, but I wasn’t really worried about it. I knew what Shirabu had done, but I never thought he would actually… do _this_. I liked Shirabu. He was never friendly, but he was okay.” 

Iwaizumi flipped the laptop closed and put it aside. “He didn’t do this to you. He did it to me. Shirabu liked you. He even said he liked you. If that’s what’s bothering you-”

“It’s not. It’s just…” he trailed off, and for a moment Iwaizumi wasn’t sure he would continue. Then he said, “What if he comes back for you, Iwa-chan?” 

Iwaizumi pushed himself out of his chair and settled instead on the edge of Oikawa’s bed. The mattress compressed beneath his weight. He threaded his fingers through Oikawa’s and said, “He won’t. Don’t worry about that. Shirabu won’t come back.” 

“But I didn’t die, so-”

“So nothing.” Iwaizumi rubbed a thumb over the back of Oikawa’s hand, around the edge of the tape that held his IV in place. “He got his revenge. He’s done. Even if he finds out you’re still alive, he won’t care. He did what he said he would do. That matters more to him than the outcome. It’s about my punishment and his reputation. It didn’t have anything to do with you.” 

Iwaizumi had lost a couple nights of sleep over that exact problem. It had taken Semi’s painfully blunt narrative about criminal activity to put Iwaizumi at ease. Semi had lived the same life that Shirabu was living now. He was confident that Shirabu would be satisfied, despite Oikawa’s survival, and Semi’s conviction on the subject had been the only thing to give Iwaizumi any peace. 

Iwaizumi was still furious, and he hoped that he never saw Shirabu again because he would snap the bastard’s neck for what he’d done, but he was coming to terms with the way things had turned out. Oikawa was going to be okay. Shirabu was gone for good. Iwaizumi would never have his revenge, but as long as he had Oikawa, he could live without it. 

Besides, Shirabu couldn’t hide forever. His time would come. 

Oikawa sighed. It was weary, defeated. He leaned back on his mound of pillows and looked up at the ceiling. He spoke in a whisper. “Thank you for waiting for me.” 

“Don’t be stupid,” said Iwaizumi. Normally he would’ve given Oikawa a light slap for saying something so dumb, but now he was afraid it would shatter him. “I’ll always wait for you.” 

Oikawa tilted his head forward again and smiled. It was a little bitter. “Even looking like this?” 

“There’s nothing wrong with the way you look.” 

“Please, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa tossed his too-long hair out of his face. It was limp, and the glossiness had faded. His skin was still zombie-pale, and the circles beneath his eyes were so dark and deep that Iwaizumi thought they might be permanent. His wrists were so thin that Iwaizumi feared he would snap them in half if he reached for Oikawa’s hand too quickly. “I know how bad I look. Semi already told me I look like shit.” 

“You’re beautiful,” said Iwaizumi, immediately and honestly. 

“Iwa-”

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” said Iwaizumi, cutting him short, “and don’t you dare say otherwise.” 

Oikawa’s mouth twitched. It looked like he was fighting a smile. “Such a romantic, Iwa-chan. Do your friends know how sappy you are?” 

Iwaizumi thought of Makki and Mattsun, who were so disgustingly romantic that it made him sick. He thought of Kyoutani, who’d asked him about Oikawa sometime following the search of his apartment, and had reacted only with mild confusion when Iwaizumi had told him the truth. He thought of the other guys on his shift, who had simply shrugged off the revelation that Iwaizumi was gay without a second thought or a cruel word. 

He thought of Kuroo, and surprised himself by considering him a tentative friend. 

“Yeah,” said Iwaizumi after a too-long pause. “They probably do.” 

There was a knock at the door; rather, it sounded as if someone kicked the door as a cursory greeting before letting themselves inside. 

A man stepped in, and the large arrangement of flowers clutched in his hands blocked his face. Iwaizumi only knew it was Semi because he’d spent hours over the past month staring at those same worn boots. 

“Semi-chan!” said Oikawa brightly as Semi eased the flowers onto the windowsill. “That’s a nice gesture, but you shouldn’t have. You know my heart belongs to Iwa-chan.” 

“Shut up,” said Semi. He plucked a small card out of the midst of the arrangement and tossed it onto the bed with a flick of his wrist. “Ushijima made me bring them. He said he’d come himself but he didn’t have time.” 

“So thoughtful,” Oikawa cooed, reaching for the card with a smile. 

The good mood was fake. Iwaizumi knew it, and Semi probably did, too. On the surface, Oikawa was one of the most cheerful patients that this hospital had ever seen. 

It was only when he was alone with Iwaizumi that he allowed that façade to fall away. Though Iwaizumi hated to see him sad, he was still grateful that Oikawa trusted him enough to be honest with him. 

“Ushiwaka really poured his heart and soul into this card,” said Oikawa wryly. “ _Get well soon. Ushijima_.”

“You know how he is,” said Semi. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.” 

Oikawa sighed. “I miss Shiratorizawa. Iwa-chan, when they let me leave will you take me there?” 

“When you can walk better than a toddler I’ll think about it.” 

“Rude. I thought you loved me.” 

“You know I do.” He leaned in to give Oikawa a quick kiss; half to appease Oikawa and half to irritate Semi. 

“You guys are gross,” said Semi. “Excuse me while I go throw up.” 

Oikawa grinned again, and this time it was genuine. 

“I’ll take you as soon as you’ve recovered enough,” promised Iwaizumi, lightly squeezing Oikawa’s hand. “Alright?” 

Oikawa sighed. “Fine. Semi-chan, tell me how my restaurant is doing!” 

Reluctantly, Semi recounted his Sapphire Grove visit of the night before. Oikawa had made him promise to go, so he could stay updated on the restaurant’s affairs. 

Semi had complained, but Iwaizumi didn’t think he’d really minded. He and Tendou had made a date of it. 

Iwaizumi migrated back to his chair and tried to get some work done. 

  
  
  
  
  
Oikawa was released from the hospital four days later. Iwaizumi took him back to his apartment and stayed with him for a solid week. After that, Oikawa convinced him to just move in. 

It was nice, living with Oikawa. The upgrade to the fancy apartment wasn’t bad, but it paled in comparison to Oikawa himself. Even when Iwaizumi went back to work two weeks later, just the thought of going home to Oikawa helped get him through even the toughest of shifts. 

Oikawa went back to work three weeks after his release from the hospital, despite Iwaizumi’s heated protests. Oikawa promised to restrict himself to paperwork for a while, and while Iwaizumi didn’t trust him to do so, he did trust Sugawara when he said he would keep an eye on Oikawa. 

Other than Oikawa’s weakened physical condition, which was gradually improving, everything returned to normal; better than normal, because Iwaizumi was happier than he’d ever been. 

Exactly a month after Oikawa was discharged, Iwaizumi took him to Shiratorizawa. 

It was nine o’clock on a Friday. Kawanishi was at the door, and he greeted the two of them with a nod and a half-smile. The club was busy, but not packed. Still, Iwaizumi stuck close to Oikawa as they merged through the crowd and climbed onto twin stools at the bar. 

It had been a long while since Iwaizumi had been there, yet he still felt perfectly comfortable despite the too-loud music and the cluster of tipsy patrons. Although it had been the root of some of the worst things in Iwaizumi’s life, something about returning to Shiratorizawa felt like coming home. 

This was where he’d met Oikawa. This was where everything had begun, the good and the bad. 

There had been a lot of bad. People had died, and Oikawa had almost been one of them. Nothing would erase the crimes that Shirabu had committed in that club. 

Still, as Iwaizumi glanced over to see the absolute delight shining on Oikawa’s face, he thought there had definitely been some good, too. 

Only a few minutes after they’d arrived, Semi approached. Goshiki was on his heels, watching Semi’s every move with wide, eager eyes. 

Semi slid a drink across the bar to Oikawa. 

“I added an unholy amount of sugar,” said Semi. “They should probably revoke my bartending license for this.” 

Oikawa waved him off and took a sip. He pursed his lips in thought, sucking the excess alcohol off of his teeth. 

“Shirabu’s were better,” he declared, taking another drink anyway. “But you’re getting there. Nice try, Semi-chan.” 

Semi glared at him and stomped away to get Iwaizumi a beer. Goshiki followed like a particularly tall shadow. 

Iwaizumi tried to shake off the tension that curled up his spine at the mention of Shirabu’s name, but Oikawa appeared blissfully unaffected. He leaned closer to Iwaizumi, their shoulders brushing. “I lied,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the music. “This drink is amazing.” 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. Goshiki trotted up to them and passed Iwaizumi a beer. 

“Thanks,” said Iwaizumi. “I guess you’re training to be the new bartender?” 

Goshiki’s eyes lit up. “Yes!” he said, too loudly. “My birthday was last week so I’m now old enough to serve alcohol!” 

Oikawa snorted into his drink. 

“Congratulations,” said Iwaizumi, because he wasn’t certain what else to say. “I’m sure you’ll do well.” 

It was hardly praise, but Goshiki seemed to swell beneath the minor compliment. “Thank you, Iwaizumi-san! I’m trying my best!” 

He gave a half-bow and hurried back toward Semi, who gave the boy a scowl that was almost fond. 

“Semi-chan said training Tsutomu is exhausting,” said Oikawa with a grin. “I think he kind of likes the kid, though. Look at him, being all motherly.” 

Iwaizumi looked across the bar to make sure Semi hadn’t overheard that. He thought there would be a great deal of offended snapping if he had. 

“Our little lost sheep is back!” crowed a voice, so close that it made Iwaizumi startle. Tendou appeared behind them and flung a long arm over each of their shoulders. “I hadn’t seen you for so long I thought you’d slipped back into your coma.” 

Iwaizumi bristled, but Oikawa just laughed. 

“You can’t get rid of me so easily, Ten-chan.” 

“What brings you out to this fine establishment tonight?” said Tendou. He cocked his head from one side to the other, eyeing them in turn. 

“Iwa-chan finally thinks I’m healthy enough to have an actual life again,” said Oikawa. “This is my first drink in a month.” 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes at the lie. Oikawa had been slipping drinks at Sapphire Grove for the past week. 

Tendou either didn’t detect the dishonesty or didn’t care. He gave a high-pitched squeal that sounded like a tea kettle and pounded on the bar. “Eita! My boy hasn’t had alcohol in a month! Get him another drink!” 

Semi barely glanced in their direction, unaffected by Tendou’s antics. 

Still, about twenty minutes later, Semi brought Oikawa another drink. 

This one was sprinkled with even more sugar. 

They stayed for a while, because Oikawa was so thrilled to be there that he wasn’t ready to leave. Iwaizumi didn’t have to work until the following evening, so he was more than happy to oblige him. 

But even if he’d had an early shift, he would have stayed anyway, just to make Oikawa happy. 

“Coming here was a bad idea,” said Iwaizumi, watching Oikawa finish his third drink. “Semi is going to give you diabetes.” 

Oikawa licked his lips and grinned. “Iwa-chan is cute when he worries.” 

Iwaizumi automatically raised a hand to shove at him, but let his arm fall back down again. “Shut up, Trashykawa.” 

Oikawa leaned into him. Iwaizumi smelled the sweetness of the cocktail on his breath. “You don’t have to be so careful. I’m fine now. I won’t break.” 

Iwaizumi sighed. “I know.” 

“I’m glad you danced with me,” said Oikawa, “that first night.” 

Iwaizumi turned his head and pressed a kiss to Oikawa’s sugar-sweet lips. “Me too,” he said quietly. The words were almost lost to the blur of music. “Best decision I’ve ever made.” 

  
  
  
  
  
They got home a little after midnight. Iwaizumi should have been exhausted, but the upbeat atmosphere of the club still thrummed in his veins. 

“I’m going to make tea or something,” he said as they removed their shoes at the door. “There’s no way I can sleep right now.” 

“I have a better idea,” said Oikawa. He sidled closer and slipped an arm around Iwaizumi’s waist. “Let’s take a bath. That’s relaxing. You’ll unwind in no time.” 

Iwaizumi’s stare was flat. “If we take a bath together you’ll try to take advantage of me.” 

Oikawa’s grin was smug. “Try? You say that like there’s a chance I would fail.” 

He wasn’t wrong. 

“Fine,” grumbled Iwaizumi. He tried to sound reluctant, but knew Oikawa saw right through him. “Go ahead and get in. I’ll start the tea and join you in a minute.” 

“Whatever you say, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa ducked his head to leave a quick kiss on Iwaizumi’s cheek. He stripped off his shirt as he walked toward the bedroom and stole a glance over his shoulder to see if Iwaizumi was watching. 

Of course he was. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Shittykawa,” said Iwaizumi with a forced scowl. 

Oikawa just winked at him and disappeared through the bedroom door. 

Iwaizumi shook his head and went into the kitchen. He pretended the sight of Oikawa’s bare back hadn’t affected him at all. 

In the month since he’d been discharged, Oikawa had recovered quite well. He’d regained nearly all of his weight, though he was still a little skinnier than he used to be. Iwaizumi assumed he would gain the rest of it back, in time. Either way, Oikawa was still the most attractive man Iwaizumi had ever met. 

He sometimes wondered how he’d gotten so lucky. 

Just as the water began to boil, Iwaizumi’s phone rang. He reached for it with a touch of confusion, uncertain who would call him at half past midnight. He wasn’t particularly worried until he saw the name that flashed across the screen. 

Iwaizumi thought about ignoring it. He had no obligation to answer the call. He wasn’t on duty. Mattsun’s shift was active, and Sergeant Sawamura would be perfectly capable of handling any potential problems. 

He should have just ignored it. 

Instead, he answered with a wary, “Hello?” 

“Hey, Iwaizumi,” said Kuroo. He sounded tired. “Sorry to call so late.” 

“It’s fine,” said Iwaizumi, though it really wasn’t. Iwaizumi turned away from the counter and listened. The sound of running water was barely audible from further inside the apartment. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m down at Block 52,” said Kuroo. The connection went scratchy and Kuroo’s voice was distant for a moment, speaking to someone else. Then there was another crackle and it became clear again. “Sawamura got dispatched out for a ten sixty-two.” 

Iwaizumi closed his eyes and his blood ran cold. 

Ten sixty-two. 

_Corpse_.

He knew what Kuroo was about to say. There was only one reason he would have called so late. Still, the words burrowed beneath Iwaizumi’s flesh with tiny claws, tearing at him. 

“It was an overdose. It could’ve been from opiates. That’s the most common type, and we won’t know until we get the autopsy report back, but…” Kuroo paused, and Iwaizumi braced himself for the news. “…but we found a bag of powder on him. It hasn’t been tested, but it looks like moxie to me.” 

Iwaizumi took a breath. He should have been expecting this He should have known things would come full circle. “Why did you call me?” 

“Do you think,” said Kuroo with clear reluctance, “Shirabu came back?” 

The name made Iwaizumi twitch. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to hear it with impassivity. He padded toward the bedroom and stopped in the doorway, peering into the connecting bathroom. From that angle he could only see Oikawa’s bare arm, resting on the edge of the tub. His fingers tapped idly. The rush of water still rumbled, masking Iwaizumi’s voice. 

“No,” said Iwaizumi. Maybe it was naivete, but he truly believed what he said. “I don’t think so. Shirabu got what he came for. He’s not stupid enough to come back.” 

“What do you think, then?” 

Iwaizumi closed his eyes and breathed a sigh. He didn’t want to think about this. He never wanted to think about any of this again. 

“He’s the one responsible,” said Iwaizumi after a moment, “but he’s not here. He’s shipping it out from Osaka, probably to someone he had close ties with when he lived here. They’re selling it and sending a cut of the profit back to him. That’s the most logical explanation.” 

“What should we do?” 

Iwaizumi didn’t fail to notice the loaded _we_.

He didn’t take the bait. 

“You should look into everyone he was close to when he lived here,” said Iwaizumi. “See if anyone still has contact with him. I hate to say it, but Shiratorizawa is probably the best place to start.” 

Iwaizumi thought of the first time he and Kuroo went into the Swan Club to question Ushijima. The memory was clear around the edges, not dulled at all by the passage of time. He’d been worried then, about Kuroo finding out about his relationship with Oikawa. It had been one of the most pressing issues in his life. 

Iwaizumi opened his eyes and found Oikawa leaning across the edge of the tub, looking at him with a concerned tilt of his head. 

Iwaizumi made himself smile, held up a finger to request another minute, and stepped back into the kitchen. 

“This is going to be a shit storm,” said Kuroo. He muttered something unintelligible, then added, “I don’t know who I’m going to assign to the case. I need someone really familiar with this kind of thing. Someone who knows a lot about the Shirabu debacle.” 

He wasn’t even trying to be subtle. 

“If you want me to do it then just ask,” said Iwaizumi. 

Kuroo didn’t hesitate. “Will you take the case?” 

After his initial offer in Oikawa’s hospital room, Kuroo had never again asked Iwaizumi to transfer to investigations. Neither of them had mentioned it, and Iwaizumi had thought that Kuroo had probably changed his mind. 

Apparently the invitation was still open. 

Iwaizumi leaned against the counter and considered. The last time he’d gotten caught up in this type of case, Oikawa’s life had been put in danger. 

Of course, that was also largely because Iwaizumi had been banned from investigating properly. If he’d had charge of the case to begin with, and hadn’t been cut off from relevant information due to his suspension, he felt he would have pinned down Shirabu as a suspect before Oikawa could have been threatened. 

If he accepted this now, maybe he could flush out the culprit before any more harm could be done. Maybe he could use the collected information to pinpoint Shirabu’s location, and the Osaka police could bring him down, too. 

It was a risk; Iwaizumi knew that. But he also knew what to do differently, and how to stop the moxie distribution before it could hurt anyone else. 

He knew what he had to do, and he was the person most well-equipped to do it. 

“Yeah,” said Iwaizumi, his conviction barely outweighing his uncertainty. “I’ll do it.” 

Kuroo’s sigh of relief was audible. “Thank god. Alright, the coroner just got here, but if you’ll head on over, we can-”

“I’m not coming tonight,” said Iwaizumi. He pushed away from the counter and peered into the bathroom again. He could just see Oikawa’s fingers dangling over the edge of the tub. “I’ll be at your office first thing in the morning.” 

Kuroo paused, and he was probably unsatisfied with that response, but he didn’t complain. “Alright then. I’ll have everything documented for you. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

The call ended, and Iwaizumi discarded his phone on the counter. 

He probably shouldn’t have answered it, but he didn’t regret it. 

This entire case could end up endangering both himself and Oikawa, just like last time. Unlike last time, however, Iwaizumi was going to be in charge. He could solve the case before anyone could even think about hurting Oikawa. 

Besides, even if he tried to avoid the case completely, he had a feeling he would eventually get tangled up in it, anyway. When Shirabu had been around, Iwaizumi had been in the eye of the storm. This time, it was best for him to flush out the culprit before they had the chance to come for him. 

For now, though, he wasn’t on the clock. 

He cut off the cooktop, the tea unfinished, and padded toward the bathroom. Oikawa looked up at his approach, his head leaned back against the tile of the tub, smile relaxed. “Everything okay, Iwa-chan?” 

Iwaizumi just looked at him. Oikawa was beautiful. 

“You’ve got that sappy look on your face,” said Oikawa, his grin growing. “What’re you thinking about?” 

Iwaizumi knelt beside him and leaned over, pressing a kiss against Oikawa’s temple. Oikawa huffed a breath and turned his head, capturing Iwaizumi’s mouth, threading wet fingers through the back of Iwaizumi’s hair to keep him there. 

Iwaizumi tried to pull back, but Oikawa tightened his grip. 

“Let go, Shittykawa,” he mumbled against his lips. “I thought you wanted to take a bath together.” 

Oikawa flicked his tongue against Iwaizumi’s bottom lip and smiled. “That was just an excuse to get you naked.” 

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. He stood, and Oikawa let him go. Iwaizumi pulled his shirt over his head and said, “Scoot up and make room.” 

A minute later, Iwaizumi had settled in against the tile wall, Oikawa’s back pressed against his chest. The water was almost scalding, but the sensation of heat and bare skin and buoyancy was euphoric. 

Iwaizumi wrapped his arms around Oikawa’s stomach and held him close. 

“Who was on the phone?” said Oikawa, leaning his head back against Iwaizumi’s shoulder. His damp hair tickled Iwaizumi’s earlobe. 

“Kuroo.” 

Oikawa stiffened, muscles going tense beneath Iwaizumi’s arms. His voice was a snap. “Why?” 

Iwaizumi gave him a gentle squeeze and pressed a kiss against his shoulder. “Just about a new case. I’m going to meet with him about it in the morning.” 

“Why’d he have to call you now, though?” 

“I’m transferring to investigations,” said Iwaizumi. He had only just made the decision five minutes before, and he still wasn’t certain about it, but he wasn’t going to lie to Oikawa. He deserved to know about everything, including the new moxie overdose. 

That, however, could wait. 

Oikawa swiveled, wet skin squeaking against the tub. “You’re what now?” 

“Transferring,” repeated Iwaizumi. “Kuroo has been trying to get me to work with him for a while. I think it’s for the best. I can solve more cases this way instead of just working patrol.” 

Oikawa studied him, brow creased in concern. Iwaizumi pressed a wet thumb against Oikawa’s forehead to smooth out the lines. 

Oikawa smacked his hand away, but there was a hint of a grin playing about his mouth. “When were you planning to tell me this?” 

“I just decided. Sorry.” 

Oikawa sighed and sank back into him, melting into Iwaizumi’s embrace. “As long as it makes you happy, Iwa-chan.” 

“You make me happy.” 

“I know. I’m a delight.” 

Iwaizumi splashed him in the face, and Oikawa just laughed. 

They settled into a comfortable silence, basking in the heat of the water and the warmth of each other’s company. 

Tomorrow, Iwaizumi was going to have to worry about the new case. He was going to have to sift through evidence and study reports and conduct interviews. It would be a lot of work, and he knew it would take up a lot of his time. 

He would still make time for Oikawa, though, because that was his top priority. That was the only reason he’d agreed to take the case at all. If he found the culprit before things got out of hand, Oikawa would be safe. 

And Iwaizumi would do anything for Oikawa. 

“I love you, Iwa-chan,” mumbled Oikawa. He’d made suggestive comments earlier that evening, but it appeared he may fall asleep before he could follow through. 

Iwaizumi didn’t mind. He slipped his fingers between Oikawa’s and settled back, letting Oikawa lay more comfortably against him. “I love you too, Tooru.” 

Oikawa gave a smile and a content sigh before letting his eyes slip closed. 

Tomorrow, Iwaizumi would have to shoulder a new set of responsibilities. 

Tonight, though, was only for Oikawa, and he intended to enjoy every minute of it.


End file.
